Slayed,
foul play,
no headway.
The wire's frayed.
Sun sets on the day,
and I prayed and I prayed,
stood lifeless in the doorway,
that it was the truth you'd conveyed.
But you said that I would be okay,
conscious deception, lying for foreplay.
I stilled as I watched all the colors turn gray, waiting for your car to pull up in the driveway,
wondering if it was just a spat, hearsay,
but the hurt I'm feeling won't go away.
Blank staring down the empty hallway
where you used to meet me halfway.
I hoped you'd be back someday.
I hoped we'd find some way.
Thought of you today,
wishing you'd stayed.
But you strayed,
betrayed,
played.
YOU ARE READING
The Things We Don't Talk About
Poetry***Trigger Warning: Mental health, mental illness, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, self-harm*** A collection of poems delving into the dark side of the human experience. From high highs to low lows, emotion can be intense. And this collection s...
