Things we regret.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Breaking someone's heart is the worst.

Submitted: April 01, 2008

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Submitted: April 01, 2008

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There are stray lights poking holes through the blank, dark sky
and I can't tell if they're shifting or if I'm standing still.
Though I surely miss the movement, my hands are empty of supplies.
"Nothing good ever came from nothing," is my own reply.
"You're making it very hot in here with all this anger,"
she says to me, though she can't look me in the eyes.
"I've taken a detour off the highway; coming in from a new angle,
I'm restless and I'm broken," using her open palms to cover her face and cry.

I've taken trips to my heart daily; just to make sure it's still there,
performing tests with instruments that no one can pronounce
and measuring its weight of character on a judgments' scale.
But when I listen for its rhythmic beating, I can't hear a single sound.

Its times like these I wish her tears would swallow me whole;
blinding my eyes so I could only feel her insides,
fingering through the curves to find her soul.
I'm choking on the air that settles in her lungs
and I know it makes her happier because
she beat the sickness while she was still young.

(Copyright)


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