Skeptic

Only a decoration for the passage time
adorning those filthy walls of brine.
Beaten hollow, what’s black and blue
where a soul hath now departed.
In a murky depths of night,
when nothing is ever right,
no morning light can shine through.
A scarred face is nothing to this heart
Torn and mauled severely apart.
Too many times bartered,
a love one should not have started.
Trustingly given for nought,
believing “Till death do us apart.”
Unforeseen, a consequence,
shredding the ties that bind us
watching Joy take her course
your face to happy from morose.