poems

10

It was beautiful. It was heart wrenching, and, unhealthy and, painful, and terrifying, and so, so beautiful. In another time, in another life, in another universe, it would have been perfect.

But not here, not this universe, not this life, and not this time.

Hearts were too damaged, the addiction too deep. The highs were wonderful, beautiful things. They seemed to be heaven on earth, they loved and laughed, and flowers bloomed and the sun shone and everything was perfect—

And then they would reach the lows. And oh, the lows were low. They were an abyss without an end, the darkest of nights where terror strikes, and screaming matches and thunder claps that shook the world and harsh words that cut to deep and — oh god icantbreathe —

And everything thing they loved was forgotten and hatred spewed from bleeding lips and panted breathes, and it was hell. Hell in a place that was once heaven and oh, did it ache deep in the core of their souls and they couldn't stop and god it hurt—

The good seemed so far, lost in the darkness of their torment, caused by themselves and the other who was supposed to be their lover.

And then the fury would fade, and the damage surveyed and regret and guilt and remorse so heavy and so thick and so inescapable descended. And they were back to gasping, reaching for air and grasping at nothing, just out of reach of their broken fingertips, and unable to move because of the height of their guilt—

And the apologies would follow but the sting would never quite fade and then the happiness and sunshine would return but they never felt quite right, it was always just out of reach, just barely too far— just like the breath your violent guilt stole from you —and if heaven wasn't right could anything ever feel right again?

Was an ill-fitting heaven enough to be worth that endless hell? Could anything be worth that absolute, crushing, unending agony?

And so it ended.

And it was anguish to be without that heaven, because any heaven was better than no heaven wasn't it?

Time would pass, pain would fade and truth would be revealed. Heaven could be found in empty coffee shops and wooden bedroom floors, and the memories of what they thought was beautiful was a devastating mutilation of love.

Don't know if I can call this a poem because of the format of paragraphs instead of lines and stanzas, but I still felt like I should put it here. I'm not sure where this came from. It's not something I experienced myself, as I have literally no life experience when it comes to love, but it was just something that came to me while writing the other day. Hope you enjoy it!