i'm out of
pretty poetic ways
to say the love for you
lives in me still,
like a permanent cancer,
like a broken bone
never healed right.
i don't have any
creative metaphors left
to tell you how i hate
you for it, how i
arrived at the notion
your love for me
wasn't ever
meant to be
forever
but fine enough
for now.
not a clever
turn of phrase
nor a haunting
line of prose
to be found,
just a sodden
pile of loathing,
a box of ticket stubs
and t shirts
still hiding
in the closet.
just a stack of
dusty polaroids
on a dusty shelf
too important to
throw away
too meaningless
to put anywhere else,
my last pathetic metaphor
for the way
the love for you
lingers,
unwelcome, unwanted,
here all the same.