confessions

confessions The Inked Dreams

Welcome home, old chum, dearest.
I’ve missed your company… these few days
I’d written you a couple times, given it my best,
without an answer, afraid you’ve become the rest.
You’d left no note, no good morning kiss;
you’d left home without a goodbye.
I’d woken up to this deafening silence,
abandoned and alone, in its wake.
You’d let me go when I moved in
with those butterflies I felt within
when that girl told me she loved me
and that first kiss pushed you over.
You should’ve known better baby… better…
that no matter what, we’re made for each other
for like all those times we thought we could be happy,
this love, was too, a momentary memory.
I’ve let myself get my heart broken again
over nothing too! If only you’d been there
to remind me of reality and pull me back
from ledges that I’d been trying to test my luck.
How could you do this to me, my sweetest friend?
After I’ve let you own me over nothing… nothing at all!
Deserting our castles of solitude, our fortress of seclusion…
our kingdom of torn poems and forgotten songs…
Who had you thought that I had but you
to share my tales of how the world breaks me
laughing at my build ups more than my punch lines,
finding setups in my poems more likable than plot?
No one gets me for the irony that I am than you do,
dearie, & I grew fond of how you make my world timeless
and I love the way you rest on my shoulder left and curl
around my arm, you cuddly lover, dear emptiness.

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