Photo by Sabin Popa on Unsplash
it’s hard for me
to face this feeling
I have no proof for.
no bruises, no nooses
hanging from the ceiling.
no headstone left
like they leave
for the dead.
there are no scars
above this broken heart
to stitch together
or tear apart.
no y-shaped incision
carved into my chest
like morticians
do the dead.
it’s hard for me
to accept the things
in my head,
the feelings
circling my bed
like vultures
do the dead.
they linger
above me
like a cloud.
you swore
to love me,
even now.
but there is
a stranger
in our bed;
the coffin
where you
laid us
to rest.
like the
mourning
do the dead.
From my newest poetry collection, CARNAGE. Available now on Amazon.
Click here.
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