You stole my heart-
like a pick-pocket; lifting
it out; from under my
vulnerability, sealing it
tightly in a pendant.
My heart-
oscillating to the
rhythm of your
mood swings.
I attempt to gain
a balance with both,
but always lose;
the momentum,
of my sanity.
I opened up my wounds
and bled my sorrowed
memories of despair
to you.
You-
would tend to them
with inferior; shoddy
patchwork, threading
envy through the glint
in your eye, then unpick
them.
Again...
and,
again..
..rubbing your
insensitivity
deep into my pain.
My heart-
a damaged souvenir
of my sentimental
values
-
Author:
Poetic25 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 11th, 2018 09:31
- Comment from author about the poem: Reflection
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
Offline)
Comments1
Such an emotive write, I do hope that the 'damaged souvenir' becomes mended.
Thank you Goldfinch
As long as we can try to heal wounds, then the scars become memories of past.
Thank you
Michael 🙂
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