shamrocks and lilacs
wreathed her brow
the brow he'd kill for
she knew
running listlessly
through broken woods
clinging moss
and smiling branches
she never stopped.
he called to the clouds
but the message was
in vain
when he'd whisper
she'd slow,
cock her head to one side
and reply to the wind -
"never again, my dear. never again...."
in the dark
cross-legged and small
i sit in a worn out hoodie.
their song is on repeat
it makes me think of him
and doubt myself
but i listen over and over
and under and over again.
my back hurts but won't crack
my eyes sting but won't cry
my fists support my chin
promising to support any violent tendencies
(as long as they are respectable and short-lived.)
the snowy stationery tells
of leaking hearts.
the penpal paper may, in fact,
know me better than i do.
