Ancient strips of paper

Addressed to your former lover

Scattered on the table in your bedroom;

The walls marked with prints of your fingers,

And her back-

Tales from when you both lost yourselves to passion.

You stood against the door of the dark room and wept,

Wiping your running nose 

On the sleeve of your filthy khaki shirt

As nostalgia caressed you with a formless pain

And regret-

Tales from when you lost yourself to guilt.

You tell yourself that she must have laid awake in the dark

As you pleased yourself in the arms of another.

She must have been feeling the knot of life within her

As she waited restlessly for dawn and for you,

To come back,

To be there for her,

What should have been for better for worse

But being eaten up from the inside became unbearable

And she let go-

Tales from when you lost it all.


Hey there, 

I’m back with the fifth poem in the series. Finally I’m excited about something.. I mean it’s so exciting that my heart’s beating like I have severe hiccups. Looks like all I needed was a conversation with one of my friends about abuse. 

For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel like I’m a slave to this agony; I actually feel like I might just be victorious at the end of the day. 

Aaaaand I’m grateful to those of you that put up with my meaningless captions. You’re the real mvps. Anyways, enjoy. 

Thanks for stopping by. If this your first time on this blog, do come back. And don’t forget to tell a friend to tell a friend to tell a friend to visit. Thanks.



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