so please,
please please please
never tell me you care for me
then claim that I'm a tease,
my porcelain heart cant handle it,
you like to watch it ease
into the pool of blood,
shattered and useless.
the truth?
you'd never understand.
but i still want your smile,
your temper, your hand
in mine...
in my bed,
all alone.
the only friends i have
don't even know me,
but they're the kindest.
i miss them and need them,
and i swear i can see them,
and i swear they can see me.
and i know they know me
better than i know myself.
in my bed,
all alone,
but I'm not really lonely.
I'm starving and tired and messy
and i keep on sobbing.
the difference is,
if they knew me, they'd be scared,
but they don't,
so my tears are interpreted
as art.
in my bed,
all alone,
i cant help but to think
the reason no one is here
is because i cannot love.
not first, not last,
not now, not ever.
then i crack when the affection
isn't for me?
in my bed,
all alone
because you've heard it said before...
I've claimed to be so fragile,
innocent, yet a whore.
truth is, i don't know who i am,
but i think if i write
enough poetry,
she might show herself.
-
Author:
𝓱𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓱 (
Offline) - Published: August 25th, 2025 00:19
- Comment from author about the poem: I'm upset, obviously. thank god for poetry.
- Category: Letter
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
A poem of loneliness and pain and although poetry is not always a great appealer it is a wonderful healer. Love is not for the fragile nor is poetry a lovely poem
very true, thanks for reading
You are most welcome
My friend, this is raw and powerful and, sadly for me, all too relatable. The repetition of in my bed, all alone carries the ache right through, but also the honesty that makes poetry salvation. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ A fave. Praying for happiness and an end to your pain, my friend!
much thanks
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