Yours, treacherously.
you kept me for far too long.
Poet’s note:
I wrote this poem six months ago, from a place of rage and exhaustion. It was suffocating; everything was. There’s a place in your head that gives you safety, an inexplainable comfort, and there’s one that doesn’t, and for the longest time I couldn’t tell where I really was. No matter how much I wrote, it was never enough. There was more and more and more. It was the kind of anger that coated itself with thick layers of betrayal and relentless sadness, and that isn’t something that subdues or heals with time; it was painful.
Does it ever stop raining
In this town?
The leaves soaked up
heavy,
lying burdened in the pond.
they strike madness at the moss
and bear witness,
rivetingly still,
to my loss.
picture you in a big frown
like one of your
self-effacing
friends,
you called clowns.
you're the one to speak now.
Was it suddenly
not so romantic
when your scorpion learned to bite?
you might’ve kept her
for far too long.
save
your
gut-wrenching stories
babe.
I’ve heard
worse.
everyone likes a bitch
until it starts barking.
what a shame
“she lost her sanity”.
I’m a fool for one
to let you wipe me on your tears
I care for love,
I’ve been taught to do for years.
you play your cards,
artistically,
as you water me.
claiming me to be naive
like, I’d never step into your trenches,
mistake me.
I was never a guest to a show
worth more than my matches,
the lies you sold
were familiar friends to my history,
but with you, this time
It was beyond me.
I broke open the latches
as you ran through me,
from and within.
When you said you’re leaving
I questioned in
silence.
My doubts were never too loud to be true.
If every mistake
costs you a life,
will you be willing to give yours too?
Thank you so so much.