And she sat with knees clutched tight to her chest on what was once their couch, looking at what once was their home, what once was their lives, and felt her body begin to shake. Felt the tears well up behind painted pretty eyes, and a scream bubble up behind painted pretty lips. She watched as she set fire to memories in her minds eye, destroying a future now gone.

Through the words you have written,
I see a broken spirit

Perhaps i could be freinds with your demons?
Hear the text through deep conversations

As the person you portray to the world is different Writer's man,
Carless, heartless, angry and chaotic

Yet Writer's man,
Your Poems show a beaten man overpowered by his inner evils and addictions.

I know this seems bizarre Writer's man,
But is it possible i fell for you as i read every line?

Our drunk moments may mean nothing to you...
But they cling to my memories

I must admit,
I am broken myself
but perhaps
we could be broken together?

Writer's man, Could i hear your dark thoughts, raw emotions and hug you on your darkest days?
Only time will tell

THE WORST PART OF A BREAK-UP
by Michelle Awad



is not the screaming,

not the gut-clenching

holding/un-holding,
fighting

back tears, it’s not the

I can’t do this anymores, or

this isn’t workings, not the

storming out, or the
returning 
house keys, or
the picking up your 
things,
you left them here, 
they’re
in a box on the porch

if you want them back, or I

can give them to Goodwill.

Either way, you have a
week.

The worst part

of a break-up

is

much bigger

much quieter

much later

it’s
that I can’t find

a **** picture

of myself that isn’t

a picture of you,
it’s
deleting them, 
it’s

selling those 
concert tickets,

it’s unremembering,

phone numbers,

and birthdays, and what

you’d find funny, it’s
wanting to tell you,
it's

the ritual,

the cleansing, 
the
things that we 
do,

the things that we 
have
to do,


to pretend
 that
we’re not actually


breaking.3

Goodbye becomes an uneasy token of grief

when love fades then walks out the door;

it's very sad to realize love's been too brief,

working at it has become a chore,

it is not worth it anymore.



The attic holds a memory of severe pain

shelved remains an engagement ring;

I can't fathom how a love for me you did feign

that I was merely a Spring fling,

I know I cannot trust you again

you made my tears fall like rain.



Held faceless against spare sunlight graying shadow

being invisible to you,

I had foolishly basked in your smile and although

a foreboding came into view ...

apologies cannot make love grow,

sacrifices ... I will forego.



Past the little details that tend to resurface

I try to go about my day;

my heart breaks whenever I think of our first kiss

waterwork woes are on display,

that is when our together I miss,

O, Lord!  Why do I reminisce?

I used to love the moments of love
Like the gratuitous glances
We exchanged in the grocery store
Or the brief belly laughs
That reverberated in our bedroom

I found myself living in them
Like the kind kisses
We had in the tight kitchen
Or the sly smirks
Reflected off the shower stall

I wanted them all the time
Like the ample adoration
Down adjacent bookstore aisles
Or the careening caresses
Of my thighs in the car

Even when sour, I held them so close to me
Like the damaged despair
Of broken plates in the dining room
Or the warning words
That echoed off white walls

I remembered every moment
Like the accusing anger
Spread across awful afternoons
Or the effortless embraces
Given in endured evenings

And sometimes, I wished I could forget them
Like the somber silences
In separate sides of the bed
Or the tearful touches
Of hands tightly ****** together

I used to love the moments of love
Like the beginning beauty
Of blushed bedroom faces
Or the frightened farewells
Under falling rain

You poured down
Like a rainstorm
On a warm August night
Soaked dry clothes through
In your careless wake
Leaving me drenched in you
You were damp
On my skin
Weighing me down
Pulling me deep under
Until all I could do was tread water
And drown in you

You flew overhead
Like a baseball
Hit by a shy rookie
On opening night
Moved quick like lightning
And soared above the stands
You were out of reach
Out of my hands
Collecting hundreds of eyes
Raising people to their feet
Until you were out of sight
And disappeared completely

You burst forth
Like a firework
On the 4th of July
Full of color and light
Causing oohs and awes
From a captivated crowd
You were loud
In my ears
Cracking apart my doubts
Amplifying love instead
Until the show was over
And you grew quiet in the silence

You drew in
Like a painting
Birthed by a masterclass
With strokes of yellow and blue
Oils bleeding together
And colors blending into one
You were confounding
Out of my grasp
Receiving praise from the gallery
Applause from your admirers
Until you became famous in the afterglow
And forgot about your biggest fan

You left behind
Like an earthquake
Of the greatest proportions
With buildings toppled over
Car alarms blaring in the street
And rubble lying at my feet
You were gone
But took a second look back
To survey the damage you made
Estimate the cost of repairs
Until you held the pieces of me in your hands
And let them fall between your open fingers

How do I stop?
By stopping?
That’s nonsense.
What if you didn’t want me back?
What if I left and never saw you again?
That’s the definition of stopping?
**** that.
You should stop.
Stop hurting me.
Can’t you just be mine?
For a little while.
I swear, not long.
I love you,
In selfishness and desperation.
But still.
Please.

Take off the mask, remove the cloth that binds your chest, that keeps your emotions in check. The cloth that, wound around you helps to keep your memories away. Memories of all the pain and anguish that you force yourself to cower from, in fear of self-destruction. You know that only time can heal, you know that time is scant. But sometimes wounds leave nasty scars, scars that fade leaving a shadow of pain. A mark of the suffering endured. Her smile and eyes that once held warmth in my gaze, now warp in my inner eye as cold malicious ones. Accusing me of rash decisions, of abandonment.
You put the pen to the paper, words flow out, but they mean nothing, words of anger and sorrow and rage. Words of longing and pain. You know there’s more to yourself than all that she was to you, but women tend to get in your head. passion becomes your primary fault. Everyone you have ever loved has hated you once before. The words are so simple, yet so painful. Painful enough to spring tears to your eyes. Painful enough to remind you of the love with which she kissed all that you hated about yourself. Leaving you with a pain in my chest, a pain that makes you want to claw at your chest for relief.