seven weeks
six days
it’s not my fault that i’ve
been keeping track of this
minute existence of yours
how i am supposed to feel,
to know such a loss;
i do not know
ive been told,
i will regret this,
to consider my actions
perhaps after
i will feel loss
perhaps after
it will make a difference
i cannot feel you,
only what you make me feel
inside
outside
maybe i will feel sorry
for giving you up like this
but somehow i feel like
i wont feel
anything besides
sweet emptiness