when they took you away,
i cried for days.
i searched for you
within the withering flowers of my ribcage,
and within my drained heart.
you weren't found in the clutters of my brain
or beneath the scars on my skin.
i managed to recover some of your pieces,
but i wont give up
until you are right back next to me.
-k.d.
YOU ARE READING
life as we know it
PoetryBeing a poet is like being really sick. But instead of vomit, words come out. This is my word vomit.