[21] HERE IS YOU, NOW LEAVE
You were supposed to be different,
so why are you burning me to ashes
and kicking the dust afterwards?
Why are you still lingering here,
kissing all my corners and folds,
embracing every shattered and broken
fragments of my head when all you do
is hold my heart in your palms and
crumple it dead like the poetry
I can never write an end to?
Why are you staying?
Why are you killing me even
when there's still air in my lungs
and blood pumping inside my chest?
Why do you have to be that way?
YOU ARE READING
Witherland
PoetryAgain: precarious. When blood remains, I see the world tripping over the edge of the sword, red and forgotten. They drop, drop, drop-- balance. And we fall endlessly. [a poetry series by alice © 2017]
