It is rotten, what I did to you.
Ever so lonely, never forgotten.
Sifting and turning,
taunting and burning,
sickening, churning
ravaging through.
Nothing I say will ever be true:
anything given,
anything gotten
begotten an anguish
too great to consume.
And yet I resume
from where I once came:
the bigoted showers of ocular rain.
Because it is rotten,
painted with nothing,
never forgotten
what I did to you.
Comforting sounds are never in sight,
during this fight alone through and through.
Never a light,
anything bright,
insomniac nights
self-loving taboo.
But you’ll linger on as a fading tattoo:
hope is just useless self-flagellation
reality blows in my imagination
like summery storms
and the summer was you.
Because it was rotten all the way through:
ever so lonely, never forgotten,
sizzling, burning,
spinning and turning,
dicing and churning,
never in tune…
...Gruesomely rotten what I did to you.
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Author:
Francesco (
Offline) - Published: December 4th, 2016 16:59
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 38
Offline)
Comments2
Although sad and heartwrenching, this is a very good poem. Mostly I read about what "he did to me" poems, but not the fessing up kind. Great job and thanks for sharing!
Thank you, Chrissy8, for the kind words. I am happy you enjoyed it.
Fx
WOW - love the flow of this! Very well written!
Thank you Stephanie, I am glad you liked it. 🙂
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