Seems I live here on the brink
always salting my bitter ink
with these tears I now cry
never sure of the reason why
Abandoned here on the page
as if discarded by some age
when poetry always made sense
regardless of its imperfect tense
How the love that I did share
became a mere “truth or dare”
while I finally did reveal
this truest heart for you to steal
Leaving me left right here
drowning in every single tear
never able to finally erase
every hidden scar with its trace
Never sure how I will go on
still awaiting another dawn
the ending of another night
so I might sink within the write
Soo I may sink into the write. That is exactly how it feels. You are submerged in it
Poetry has saved me also. The page has caught more tears than I could ever count. Fia said it, we become submerged.
This is exquisite.