Fingertip-flow from who-knows-where.


This choke I know down in my throat,
from when my heart, last time was broke.
And swore back then, never again,
but here I fear, the tear's opened.

A rip, a tear, I just don't care,
it hurts the same each time I share.
A fool am I, I don't know why,
to think this time to give it a try.

It ends the same, am I to blame,
this thing like love that's just a game.
I do not know, how else to show,
the ache inside that we all know.

Except in verse, silence reversed,
quiet I keep just how bad it hurts.
Nobody cares, no one is there,
so I write this down on blank paper.

This doesn't make sense, using different pens,
like the ink I use will change how this ends.
Either me or the her, but the 'she' is the same,
their stories don't change, save only the name.

Try as I might, I never get through,
to the beauty inside; what makes up the 'you'.
His words hurt you, and in me you find calm,
yet to him you go back, and it all goes wrong.

The 'Love of your life' as he's called in your contacts,
was the first of pieces I found within context.
That although he misused you, with words did abuse you,
you can't let go of the thought that confused you.

So the nights we shared and roads we fared,
I drive alone now with an empty stare.
But time will heal what reason cannot,
and by then will you be another 'she' I forgot.

Poetry by Bonehead83
Read 49 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2021-09-30 at 16:53

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I just love your work.You always make me think more.Bravo!!!

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Mick Bean
No comments so far on your work, how odd. Something as good as this deserves a better response. Well writen. (written with one "t" please note)