It hurts
It hurts.
You leave, and you take
My flowers with you. My papers.
My home.
It hurts
Because you left and everything's
Wilting. Flying. Falling.
It hurts, not that you left.
It hurts, because you didn't stay.
My eyes willing to change your mind.
My mind screaming your name.
My heart pounding possibilities.
But I stand there. I watch you leave.
With this madness causing pain.
It hurts.
Not that I watch you slipping out of this room.
It hurts. Because you're forgetting to take me with you.
It hurts.
Because you know you're leaving me.
Leaving me empty. Completely.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten | Poetry & Prose
PoetryH.R #3 IN TOLD | A collection of the told and untold, the hidden and revealed, but everything - all this and everything else - written down in solemn words, in phrases, compiled and collected as poetry and prose.
