I know it now, that all your words,
As you took my hand,
And wooed me to your bed,
(For now I know t’was yours and not ours,
Although you promised me the stars),
Were naught but lies.
Which to my bruised heart,
Were best unsaid.

They seemed as honey,
And balmed my wounded soul,
Which long since, till then, had ceased to trust.
And I believed implicitly. This was my love.
The one I had never dared to search for,
In memories of rejection.
But now they taste of saccharine,
Bitter after sweet.