You were all lies wrapped up in grace and charm.
I don’t love you, but, Jesus, I could try,
Even though I think there’s mold
growing on your heart, black and cold,
there’s still time for words to bloom –
I have torn myself to pieces over you.
And your name is a scar, bloodless and dry.
It wouldn’t have been if you only fucking tried.
And I know it’s the veins that tie our wrists together,
because your mouth is a black hole I never wanted to weather.
Even when your death sounds like gunshots
I sit soft, I sit still, I let the poetry rot.
As if love is something you ever wanted from me.
As if love is something you ever wanted to see.
Keep your hands off my soul, with your splintered ribs,
with your bleeding wrists and your empty cribs.
You made me into wreckage and sin,
the sound of your voice keeps my body thin.
And I was in love with an idea – the bait, and I bit,
but, God, it was beautiful.
It was, wasn’t it?" -
The Things I’d Never Say | d.a.s
NaPoWriMo day 24: Make a list of people in your life, erase their names, and replace them with one thing you would never tell that person to their face, courtesy of wordsintheabyss