Eunoia • Book Three

Untitled Poetry

Some nights I think about us and what we used to be.
But we were just a play of my fantasies.
I created a picture-perfect world of our love.

And now I've scarred my heart.
The cracks forming your name and my heart bleeds.
It cries. It hurts. It begs.

I beg myself to stop.
But to stop means to not feel.
And to not feel means to not be me.

I can't allow myself to be cold.
Because cold isn't who I am and isn't the one I want to be.
But to be cold is to protect my heart.

And to protect my heart is to numb my soul.
But I think I like my soul; I think I want to feel.
Maybe hurting is a way of coping.

And for every night, the nights I think about us.
I relive the moment you said you loved which you didn't mean.
And my heart bleeds when your name is scarred onto itself.

I beg myself to fall asleep.
But it seems like sleep is running far away from me.
I cry. I hurt. I beg.

And I hear the words of my mother heeding me,
"Love isn't a bed of roses. Love either breaks you or heals you."
And I look at myself and who I've become.

Love either breaks you or heals you.
His love broke me. His love healed me.
But his love wasn't real but just a part of my fantasies.