there's nothing romantic about
stinging, shaking legs
and a still silence
surrounding lovers that creates
screams in their heads --
where did i go wrong
i'm such an idiot
there's nothing beautiful
about blood and self-loathing,
insecurities and guilt.
there's no turning around.
there's only moving forward.
and maybe they'll both be different,
but they'll probably stay the same.
and there's nothing --
nothing --
pretty about that.