I think I have reached the end of reaching
for phantoms that hide from my heart.
The yearning for romantic notions not shared.
The deception of words uttered in broken,
fragmented, half truths ring hollow
when actions never follow.
That lukewarm pain
burns and stings more with each breath taken.
A phone that never rings seems the loudest silence.
When one claims to love you, but easily forgets.
When hours become days become weeks.
Silence, icy coldness, becomes anguish.
And from that anguish comes...a quiet
Nothingness. Emptiness where once there there was a warm flame, sustaining...a lie.
The soons, the maybes, the I love yous.
Still, you intermittently offer up your aloof affections.
I'm an afterthought,
at best. The silence. It's fading.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
I think I have reached the end of reaching
for phantoms that hide from my heart.
The yearning for romantic notions not shared.
The deception of words uttered in broken,
fragmented, half truths ring hollow
when actions never follow.
That lukewarm pain
burns and stings more with each breath taken.
A phone that never rings seems the loudest silence.
When one claims to love you, but easily forgets.
When hours become days become weeks.
Silence, icy coldness, becomes anguish.
And from that anguish comes...a quiet
Nothingness. Emptiness where once there there was a warm flame, sustaining...a lie.
The soons, the maybes, the I love yous.
Still, you intermittently offer up your aloof affections.
I'm an afterthought,
at best. The silence. It's fading.
snippets from a heart, once broken
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