At first the words I love you carried weight,
The held admiration and meaning.
Whispered between sheets and under stars;
Back when we meant them.
Now the words I love you are hollow.
Something said so as to not face the truth,
We are both so desperate to hold on to the rope,
Even as it burns our hands
The blisters are better than giving in.
Better than finding someone new.
Easier to face than admit the facade we hide behind.
Easier than admitting we fell out of love.
YOU ARE READING
through toil and chance
PoetryPoetry for the doers and the dreamers. Poetry for the lovers and the fighters. Poetry for the soul seeker and the self lover. Poetry for the misfits and the outcast. Poetry for the classicist and poetry for the modernist. Pictures featured are not...
