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.