Break-up is when you take his things
Wrap them in his jacket
And put them away,
Hoping that through this you won't think about him.
Out of sight, out of
mind.
But then you crawl into bed and it still smells like him
So you cry.

Break-up is when you lay his vest on the floor
And flatten on top of it
Collapsing.
Just to cry into it that you're sorry, "I love you, I'm sorry..."
Then throw it to the corner like it's trash.
It isn't.

Break-up is when you put on all the perfume you stopped wearing
Because he said he liked the smell
Of untainted you.
Then you vow to wear one
Every day
Until it makes you sick at yourself.

Break-up is when all your poetry turns free form
So that you won't send it to him
And your friends know it's serious.
Every poem ends the same;
Before its time
And dramatically.
Just like the last time you kissed.