Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
40 · Oct 7
Diagnosis
We were married in the spring
You were diagnosed in the summer.

I clutched the letter
Predicting your fate.

Not knowing how
I was going to tell you.

Not wanting to break
Our rhythm. Our future. Our fortune.

But I had no choice,
It was not my secret to keep.

So I found the words, some words.
And watched your face crumple in confusion.

Saw our new life flash
Before our very eyes.

While our former one
Receded into darkness.

Disappearing ink
on the pages of our lives.
33 · Oct 19
Untitled
Heather SIMON Oct 19
Pull at your bootstraps
Because you’re going nowhere,
Fast becoming
The ones you once fled.

Thought you left them far behind
But they snuck up on you
Like the ocean sometimes does
When your back is turned

And it might be too late
Now it’s too late
There’s only saltwater burning your eyes
And brackish surf on your tongue

— The End —