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.

  • Author: Francesco (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 4th, 2016 16:59
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 38


  • Christina8

    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!

    • Francesco

      Thank you, Chrissy8, for the kind words. I am happy you enjoyed it.

    • Stephanie Showers

      WOW - love the flow of this! Very well written!

      • Francesco

        Thank you Stephanie, I am glad you liked it. 🙂

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