I remember it,
it was a warm Tuesday evening
and we were stumbling to the bus stop
that stood on the side
of the busy town centre street,
she was being herself,
telling me how terrible
I am
and how she hates every inch of me,
then she leaned in to kiss me;
this would happen nearly every day
but that warm Tuesday evening,
something clicked;
I took the anger I had felt for so long
and painted it on her body
with bruises
shades of purple,
yellows and blues;
she left me the next day
for a pretty boy she had met
a few days earlier;
we were never going to work;
she was crazy
and I was crazy for her;
that 'love' did not bring me joy
and hope,
it brought me suicidal thoughts
and hard liquor;
I still remember it,
the day I broke into a million
tiny little pieces;
I still find myself searching
for those pieces
and it kills me every time
I realise I can never get them back;
but I am trying
to re-build myself
with the little pieces
I managed to cling on to
in the shock of the fall
