I bleed out through my poetry.

Like little crime scenes
left behind after my
ex abused me.

The shards cuts deeper
because we loved so deeply
it soaked into the depths of
our beings until it became
a victim of lies of loves promises.

Love is not the perpetual blackness.

For it is the wilder of the sword
that cuts us deeper that
brought the perpetual blackness.

They are the damage and monster
that tries to eat what is left.

It is up to us to pickup the pen
and will ourselves above the ruins
and rebuild our lives to make room
for new relationships that grow into
possibilities for future love.

This too shall pass,
like the day into night,
rain into clear skies,
and tear soaked pillows
into fresh clean linens.

I wash my hands from my pain
by writing poetry.

©️ 2025 By Amanda Shelton