When you tugged
our red string connection,
I thought it was happy—
an odd kind of erection.
It was hard,
the days stretched long.
You pulled that string,
and mentally,
it was an energetic flight.
But I had to say goodbye.
Two worlds can't both be lived in
when my feet fit fully
on solid ground.
Not feeling your tug
leaves some days with a shrug.
I wish we'd met in person—
so I could give you
a great big hug.
Now I'm rotting,
I'm sick,
and I wouldn't mind
a happy red string tug.
Truth is, thinking of you
drained me dry.
You fed on my energy
like a hungry leech.
And still—
I would've been happy anyway.
That's messed up.
But then again,
not seeing your smile
is also fucked up.
YOU ARE READING
An Introvert Fight
PoetryA writer with a bleeding heart, that writes from every experience. Life has to offer, including Weird and unusual moments too.
