I’m done with the disappointment
With the heartache and tears
I’m done with the promises
Always postponed, never fulfilled

I'm finished with the "I love you"s
With the confusion between truths and sweet nothings
I’m spent with the let downs
With the excuses and "I’m sorry”s

I say I am finished with the romance
With the kisses and heartbreaks
Yet my every wish it to have such
To be wrapped in a lovers arms; to be loved

I say I am done with the disappointment
With the heartache and the tears
But I have yet to give it up
Nor do I honestly want to.

Walking the long path toward recovery
Sometimes I find myself dropping
Stumbling, and tripping
Into a small pit of darkness.
Simple to climb out of.

Sometimes I may need
A glorious white angel
To reach down and pull me out.
They would hold my hand
And walk the path beside me.

I gather many angels this way.
Linking hands, and pulling me to safety
Though one of them stands out above all.
He convinces me to drop the angels hands
And I do without hesitation.  

He grabs my hand tightly
Telling me he will never let go
And I believe him wholeheartedly
Not doubting in the slightest.
Not preparing for the worst.

I find myself dropping
Into the pit of darkness
And look up towards him to save me.
He chuckles darkly; lets me slip from his grasp.
And I fall.

I drop like a stone
Farther than ever before.
All of my angels gone astray
Nowhere to be found
As my screams echo so silently.

When I reach the bottom
I am silent.
I knew my silent screams would not be heard.
I am stuck with no one to save me.
Still sitting here in the pit of despair.

“Write me a poem?” he asked me.

“Of course, my love.” And I do.

My love is written onto a page
The words spilling onto the floor
Trickling through the cracks in the wood
Dripping onto the dry earth below
Watering long forgotten seeds
Sprouting tendrils of flowering vines
Giving pollen to the smallest of bees.
From their hives of great abundance,
Honey leaking, sticky and golden,
I collect in a jar made of crystals
And present to him, my poem.
“I give you my very being.” I say.
With a laugh, he takes it.
-
“Write me a poem?” I ask him.
“That’s not really my thing, sorry.”