Running Knives.

Faded and forgotten songs we play,
Watching tears roll down as we walked away
From what could have once been
But never stood the chance to be–
I’ll leave clues for you,
Just the way we once used to;
Do you still remember them?
Would you still follow the echoes into the dark?
Or would you walk the other way,
Not sparing so much as a glance,
A far cry from when you had eyes for only me,
Oh, how time flies! Oh, what a tragedy!
I’m like the flower that blooms right through a storm,
But you touched me and I withered, fell into the dark,
And now I’m just a sad little thing,
Weeping at every little sign of your name,
Darling, when you hurt me, you left the deepest scar,
And I wish time could heal, fade it all away,
But I find myself having to live with all of the pain;
Is it cruel for me to hope that it hurt you more?
All I have left now are all of these thorns,
They cut through all the hands that dare come too close,
And maybe I’m just a bloodied mess,
Running knives through you in poems and prose.

~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.

I’ve been feeling a little heartbroken for the last couple of days, and poetry, I’ve been told, is a great form of catharsis. I cannot promise more scathing poetry, but I’m definitely on the road to writing more of them. I hope you enjoyed reading this!

Photo by k z on Unsplash

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