*There is nothing more painful
Than having said goodbye
With an I love you, that you must
Walk on, live life
And pass by an old park bench,
Alone.
There is no night that could sate you,
No banquet can. You can’t help
But crave for it repeatedly,
Her flaws are far away,
Her milk lips, her cheeks, sugared,
The pastry of her neck reminds you
Of her eyes, condescending,
Her sshh, the disregard she has for you,
That yet you always fall for.
You will think of her beauty, divine,
That left from and returned to her ponytail.
Her straight hair can unravel
The emptiness of a thin moon.
Your heart would have left with her fully,
Or lies with you empty, and still
You are confused.
And then you will find out
That there is no such thing, nothing,
Was as clumsy as her smile,
Making a mess of hearts,
The hearts of men.
And so, you sit
At a bench for two, alone,
Drunk, nauseated,
Knowing…
…that you have lost her.*
© 2017 J.S.P.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 2:57 AM UTC
*There is nothing more painful
Than having said goodbye
With an I love you, that you must
Walk on, live life
And pass by an old park bench,
Alone.
There is no night that could sate you,
No banquet can. You can’t help
But crave for it repeatedly,
Her flaws are far away,
Her milk lips, her cheeks, sugared,
The pastry of her neck reminds you
Of her eyes, condescending,
Her sshh, the disregard she has for you,
That yet you always fall for.
You will think of her beauty, divine,
That left from and returned to her ponytail.
Her straight hair can unravel
The emptiness of a thin moon.
Your heart would have left with her fully,
Or lies with you empty, and still
You are confused.
And then you will find out
That there is no such thing, nothing,
Was as clumsy as her smile,
Making a mess of hearts,
The hearts of men.
And so, you sit
At a bench for two, alone,
Drunk, nauseated,
Knowing…
…that you have lost her.*
© 2017 J.S.P.
