He tells himself you're beautiful, one of a kind
You recognize that the forced smile on his face isn't an illusion this time.
You feel nauseating swirls of fuchsia and crimson toss and turn in my stomach,
As he hands you the satin box.
A gift, is it? Looks like compensation for committing to your position,
The Girlfriend.
As you continue to examine the gaudy wristlet, it begins to change form.
Shape of a false promise, yet it rattles like guilt.
Glitters like a commercial, but reeks of tradition.
...I know!
It’s Valentine's Day.
