Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jun 2014 Kay Tailor
Today I heard the words
I'd been waiting to hear for 34 days
But they weren't from your lips
and it wasn't your voice
that carried the short string of words to my ear.

Yes, they were beautiful.

While I tried to keep my heart
from breaking..
I shattered his.
 Jun 2014 Kay Tailor
Megan Leigh
Some mornings, heartbreak is in your bones, settled deep inside though you can’t seem to recall sending the invitation.
Your rib cage stands like the bare tree of fall, the wind whistling through it’s frail branches, tapping on your window as if to remind you, you are alone.

Some mornings, heartbreak is in your skull, in the crevices of the pale blue casing that surrounds your every thought, the broken dreamcatcher trying to keep the evil away.
But ghosts can float between the bars, slip inside your deepest secrets, with no regret or remorse for making you cry out in the night.

Some mornings, heartbreak is in your spine, intertwining like ivy on a lamp post, leaving you begging for someone else to hold your own head up for you.
Comfort resides in the hours spent cut off from reality, for at least you have control of that, though the dreams leave you franticly reaching in the night for something unknown to even you.

Some mornings, heartbreak finds it’s way back to your heart, slides through the valves, into the ventricles, mixing with the blood that gives you life. Heartbreak gives you life. Heartbreak reaches every last corner of your body, crippling you and taunting you, but you are still capable of breathing on your own. Heartbreak may be a thief, but you are a statue, broken and crumbling around the edges but still standing after all these years.

Some mornings, heart break is in your body. It seems to make up the essence of you, but it is not your being. You are your being.
 Jun 2014 Kay Tailor
In your lips, I found the cosmos.
I found the me that loved herself,
the me that existed outside of
the melancholy songs and messy poetry on restaurant napkins.
I made my paper-home in your ribcage
but I failed to see the lit match balanced
dangerously between your calloused fingertips.

(I miss you like the moon misses the sun.)

You were sickeningly sweet,
and I was desperate to be saved.
You were everything to me.

(I was not brilliant enough.)

I was naïve in my loving.
I never thought that something so pure,
could turn so dark inside my mind.
That's the thing about me,
I pull things apart in my head
until they're mere fragmented versions of what they used to be.
We were no exception.

("I desire the things that destroy me in the end.")

The phone calls got shorter,
my heart cracked a little with each
missed encounter.
I felt myself slipping through the cracks
of your brilliant pavement.

(I am falling apart day by day.)

You didn't know how much it hurt to feel yourself
being forgotten.
You didn't know how it felt to be the television version
of a person with a broken heart.
I didn't know that fading away
felt worse than burning out.

(Will drinking cyanide **** the burning in the pit of my stomach?)

I guess now I see that you can't really save people,
all you can do is love them.
I used a "The National" quote in here and I know that you never really liked them but I don't care anymore.
 Jun 2014 Kay Tailor
cosmo naught
Your eyes
are iron cores
of dying stars.

I collapse
under their gravity.

You consume me,
and spit me out
in millionths.
A poet in love
Is a match soaked
In gasoline.

follow my writing!

it will kick you in the diaphragm.

— The End —