You don't get to have the version of me that emerges from my loss of you.
You don't get to embrace the arms I build as I try to forget your face.
The cold stone eyes that draw you nearer will look straight through you; like I to me each morning in the mirror.
I'll fill my skin with ink to replace the tracings of your fingers; the pain it leaves relieves the parts of you that stays and lingers.
I took you in, broken with sin, yet I now need to mend.
I'll forge a soul that's hard and cool if only by pretend.
You don't get to have the version of me that emerges from my loss of you.
You don't get to have me.
I don't get to have you.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 8:55 PM UTC
You don't get to have the version of me that emerges from my loss of you.
You don't get to embrace the arms I build as I try to forget your face.
The cold stone eyes that draw you nearer will look straight through you; like I to me each morning in the mirror.
I'll fill my skin with ink to replace the tracings of your fingers; the pain it leaves relieves the parts of you that stays and lingers.
I took you in, broken with sin, yet I now need to mend.
I'll forge a soul that's hard and cool if only by pretend.
You don't get to have the version of me that emerges from my loss of you.
You don't get to have me.
I don't get to have you.
Request permission to use this poem