Amelia James Poetry

You walked in like a sonnet,
all perfect rhythm and practiced rhyme,
whispering words so sweet
I never thought to check for poison.

You made me feel chosen.
Like the only one, the forever one.
Like fate itself had wrapped me in silk and gold
and placed me at your feet.

You looked at me like I was a masterpiece,
spoke my name like a sacred thing.
I should’ve known—
only thieves admire art
with the intention to steal.

You fed me love in excess,
poured it down my throat,
spun devotion like sugar on your tongue.
Too much, too soon.
But I didn’t question it.
I didn’t know love could be a weapon.

Mendacious man,
with a heart like an empty stage.
You knew the lines,
you knew the cues,
but love was never in the script.

I should’ve seen the cracks—
the way your stories never quite added up,
the way your eyes flickered when you swore
I’ve never felt this way before.
The way you needed me to need you,
to worship you,
to believe you were the best thing
that ever happened to me.

I should’ve noticed how my world shrank,
how my reflection blurred,
how I became a supporting role
in a show that was always about you.

But God, you made it feel like love.
Like magic.
Like I was stepping into something rare—
a love that burned brighter,
hotter,
only to learn too late
that I was the only one in the fire.

And then—
the sudden cold.
The silence.
The effortless undoing of everything
you swore was real.

How easy it was for you.
To disappear.
To rewrite history with another girl.
To let me wonder if you ever meant a single word,
or if I was just another body in your collection.

Mendacious man,
you never loved me.
You only loved the way I loved you.

And I hate that I made it so easy.

-Amelia James