I have this thread,
lying around the house.
It’s come undone.
I’ve been meaning to
throw it away,
I have no use for it.
Every time I clean the room
I remind myself,
it’s time to pick this up,
it has no place in my home.
Maybe tomorrow
the wind will sweep away
what I held too close.

-

Within everything
that is now undone,
lie fragments of beauty.
Each a cherished sliver,
of a once precious whole.

-

We bloom
where the light
enters,
but it must first
break
cutting through
the dark.

-

Maybe if I stop
picking at the scab,
this wound will finally heal.
Except,
I don’t know how to,
it’s the only way
all this pain feels real.

-

I stand in a crowd,
it couldn’t be quieter.
Yet these empty walls,
they’re deafening.

-

When the doors closed
and you were gone,
life lost all meaning
for a split second.
Till I realised,
you shut me out
and walked on by,
like it was your
proudest moment.

-

The battlefield is empty.
There are no swords,
nor something meaningful
to fight for.
Yet somehow, this is worse.

-

I’m still standing on the bridge
you set ablaze.
There are no paths left,
just ashes.

-

The canvas is bleeding
and I can’t stop this ink.

-

I remember you once
told me you had a bad dream.
We were ending and it was
breaking you apart.
Now I wake up every day
to that reality.

-