As I pull splinters
from my heart,
each one leaves gaping wounds,
still leaking crimson after months
into relentless monsoons.
How did I let you lead me on for so long?
For longer than I’m proud of.
You curled up in your storm again
and I kept reaching for you from above.
You left the line open,
just in case,
beck and call,
the forever chase.
An apparition that comes back
in lightening bursts,
then vanishes with the wind
and reiterates its curse.
Seven years I stayed marooned,
still tracing the love we carved out
in those afternoons.
But you’d rather drown
in your own gloom
than attune your voice
to sing in tune
with someone who
would toss a rope,
and anchor you
in something true.
I would’ve kept you floating, love,
if only you had wanted me to.
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