Goodbye poetry is my favourite kind
The poets that feed you those delectable bites of glazey sickly love
To only have it drip through your outstretched arms
Leaving only a sticky sappy mess in its wake
Poets that use words that make you flinch
From wounds you hadn't known to have gored a hole in your heart
The kind of striking imagery that slices you like a chefs knife through an orange
The two halves swirling away from each other
I adore the way they hide behind their verbs and paragraphs and metaphors
Just like a child dodging kind strangers, clinging on to their mothers knees
And yet simultaneously, it's all exposed,
Naked figures intertwined in the bare legs of poetry
Filthy washing between the lines if you only know how to see it
Goodbye poetry is my favourite kind
It’s the only kind poets write about
Its juicier than the trickles of saccharine kisses in the golden rays of summer
It’s the rawest kind of poetry you will ever read, because when it's all over
When there is nobody to spend every beautifully blithe day with
That’s when the seconds turn sour
And we sit in the earthy soil and write
Our goodbye poetry
Poets only know how to make you cry
Goodbye
k.g.
I made up a word, try find it
