i can call it a sense of release,
but that would be a similar deceit.
my heart drops by the morn,
mourning the sun that's yet to rise.
you can forgive him,
i know that much.
it grazes the grass of tomorrow,
keeping your lawn prepped for the upcoming autumn leaves.
but i am forever a second thought.
you will not admit that,
and i barely can myself.
because you have chosen to be second in your heart-
when all along i have chosen you.
once he releases his venom,
i'm not the antidote.
i am the glass blocking you from the snake,
and the room to shed your skin again.
i hope you find joy again.
i hope somehow the snake has become the dove,
and brings you nothing else but peace.
for now you've become the autumn moon,
graduating from the summer sun,
and allowing me to let go of what i was destined to lose.
YOU ARE READING
speak softly
Poetryyou speak until your breath gives out, and the shallow huffs of words they never heard beg to be buried; but live on in the sidewalks. - - - prose/poetry
