No Illusions Left
I don’t have illusions
only this.
What you promised
was just a sound.
What shouldn’t hurt,
feels like knives.
My heart is too tender
to survive
being discarded
so easily.
I keep crying while writing
that’s not bad craft.
That’s just my body
knowing before the page does.
I don’t have allusions
what I mean
is flat and final.
no hidden story
where you return.
If you have recently been disappointed by something or someone, I invite you to write a short poem or story in the comments. We can support each other.
White Rabbit Musings is my labor of love. This publication is reader supported. All articles will remain free domain, however if you would like to support my work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a book. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate your time.
The body noticing before the poem can... I don’t have a neat thing to say, I just know that awful little moment when the hand is writing and the rest of me already knows...
This one hurt a little to read. It hits hard.