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Emotions are
cluttered;
words,
feelings formed
with paraphrases;
feelings like “pain”;
emotions like “hate”;
words formed as questions;
questions like why:
did you get off that night
knowing you made me cry?

I loved you;
honestly; deeply;
you knew me, I knew you;
intimately; completely.

You…
shattered it;
shards of glass
decorated the exterior
of our white-picket fence fantasy;
blood soaked the interior
of the epiphany
of its impracticality.

Bloodied parts isn’t l’amour;
it may be hardship
but it never always makes you cry;
your actions contradicted all your words,
and turned your “honesty”
into honest lies.

So now emotions are cluttered;
words and feelings formed in paraphrase;
feelings like “broken”;
emotions like “shame”.
Words formed as questions,
questions like “what now?”
–forgive and forget,
is that what I do now?

Bloodied parts isn’t l’amour
—it may be hard,
but love doesn’t always equal war.
Yet shards of glass decorate
the exterior of our fantasies,
and blood soaks the interior
of the epiphany of the impracticalities;

and love isn’t like that,
everyone knows that.
It just—isn’t, you know?



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