I have read quite a few poems, blogs and articles here in AD about innermost hidden pains that suddenly couldn't be contained and leaked on their papers.
To let know them that they were understood, I dedicated this humble one to them.

Catharsis of the soul shedding emotional toxics
after and overdose of treason provoking wrath,
when naïveté assured us that it was most safe
to, without any reservations, open wide our hearts.

But, what comes after the all burning passions,
can we believed every word that was said now?
Lies are the currency of what we want to hear
as truth is not expected, in love to become a vow.

Fingertips carrying the softest velvet caresses
following every line of a face like a blind man
would try to read in the humidity of her tears
the depth of the sadness, the depth of the love.

Then, realizing that the soul is thoroughly empty,
one ask himself whatever happened to the man
that naïveté had assured that it was most safe
to walk on love’s tightrope hold by the Hangman.