There's an ending coming.
I can feel it.
As thick as the heavy disclosure language
leaves behind.
Sharp turning points,
No asterisks here to hold onto,
No signalling of an end.
You.
I write about you a lot in my poems,
When there is no you.
Just a hollow.
An empty space.
The air which stores all the wishes lost with
dandelion seeds.
Where I store all the comfort I never
had the grace of simply taking.
I do it, maybe-
I say maybe when I know-
I do it because loneliness is not a reliable lover.
For once, I don't really want to smile and
translate it into more white lies.
Emptiness.
I miss you.
But there is nothing entirely to miss.
No.
I don't really understand it either.
I'm sorry.
You were the only thought of someone
I thought I had
at the moment my thoughts
were the only things I thought
were destroying me.
Thank you.
My little half full heart beats.
You taught me I am not half empty after all.
I will come back to you.
When I do-
If I do-
Maybe I will do so happy.
Happy.
I swore I wrote this happy.
YOU ARE READING
Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.
Poesía"I hope it gives you the same satisfaction as finishing a really good book, Or kissing someone, and not walk away feeling like they have taken something from you."
