deepundergroundpoetry.com
Pattern: 53(1237
Pattern: 53(1237
There were words
between you and I
that we didn't say;
that ached internal.
I knew that
we couldn't be born.
It swallowed us.
The final day
was sour and silent.
You didn't acknowledge me
nor I, you.
The half-curled smiles
left me septic; sectioned,
strumming my nerves.
"Please, don't go."
There was a shot
at a person, whole.
"Please, make do."
There were words
between you and I
that we didn't say;
that ached internal.
I knew that
we couldn't be born.
It swallowed us.
The final day
was sour and silent.
You didn't acknowledge me
nor I, you.
The half-curled smiles
left me septic; sectioned,
strumming my nerves.
"Please, don't go."
There was a shot
at a person, whole.
"Please, make do."
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