Frail is the pulse of stolen hearts.
Subversion and perversions of self worth.
Our eyes failing to see our feet in front of us.
I cracked a wicked, blissful smile then,
and would see fit to do it again,
when you smile back.
Promises marked in skin and sweat,
Broken by separated sighs,
In rhythm, and intent.
Marking boxes off your list.
Brandishing no feeling in the least,
A conquest of according lies.
Gone before your imprint even left the sheets.
Weeks and weeks went,
Remembering.
The sounds, the smells, how far my back bent.
To save you from yourself.
And the thought of where you could be,
If id not intervened.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Spaces
PoetryAn emotive journey through the empty places we visit but never want to see. The pain, the heartbreak, trying to see hope in places there may be none. And the secrets, and yes there are always secrets. Can you see them in this dark empty space? So it...
