you get so used to something;
to someone;
never expect them to abandon you
though you condoned their departure

you saw it coming

it was all experienced yesterday
except, then
it was only a distant speck
you brushed away the dust you kicked up and
ignored the arguments that weighed on your conscience

you saw it coming

yet it still hits you like a freight train
with your back to it;
your earphones in
because you were trying to enjoy a walk
on such dangerous tracks;
such thin ice

you saw it coming

so what choice do you now have
but to finally collapse;
to let it run you over
and let your
omniscient bones
break?

you saw it coming,
but you let it hit you anyway.


please, get out of the way next time.

you are the lump
preventing my swallow.
& nausea,
now a familiar friend,
feebly attempts to collapse your solidity
in the back of my throat,
as do the lies I tell myself aloud
in order to forget.

I wonder if you remember,
or does your new sun shine so bright
that she blinds you from your own past?
perhaps she's more of a
supernova, like you said
& so I'd like to think;
something temporary.

still, she came amidst fire & light
while I came with a
removable bow on top;
received pain on a similar platter
as that of my uneaten dinner;
I understand.

my final question is if that sort of
amaurosis makes you dizzy;
tell me,
what effect does she
have on your
stomach?

one by one,
standing over soggy soil,
she plucked the delicacies
from their uprooted habitat;
the flower;
also, the soul
alleviated, you’d think
from its heavy petals;
duties of
innocence; image.

losing yourself is simple;
easy.
she knows this all too well.
the flower is her soul;
also, her surrogate
just as she once was
to a man,
the only difference being that
there was no soft ground
to break her multiple falls that
followed a slow spiral from
the light
of her flower-like innocence.

so it hurts
like a sock in the stomach,
and you're lying on the ground,
taking to the night sky to
fill you back up
and remind you that you're ok on your own.

so it makes you sick
because you're not.
and the sounds of dueling orchestrated symphonies
ring in your ears and
you can hardly hear your own breath.

so you count the invisible stars
and let yourself drown in isolation,
asking
what am I supposed to do now?
now that nobody's waiting;
now that nobody's counting down the minutes until i'm
actually
ok again,
because once upon a time
there was somebody lying next to you on that ground
counting the freckles on your cheek and
ignoring the invisible stars; how they
cried out.

so you miss that
and without it you're left feeling
nothing
but the writhing pain in the center of your stomach
from the beating you withstood
following several words
that concluded
your total loss
of hope.

Just because it ended
doesn't mean you have to
set fire to what you've built.

You can just
not visit there
anymore.