deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Letting Go


Some sort of piracy,
the way you stole
my days away from me.
God, how they went
so willingly.

There are those we seek,
and those that find us.
Some set free,
and some that bind us.

All I'm left with,
you're only gift,
when you wore my shirt
those couple of days;
Like feathered wings,
so uplifted, I carried you
sometimes, against the wall.

I still haven't picked up the mirror.
Conceded, it leans against the wall.

I close my eyes, to shut you out,
yet haven't washed the shirt.
The smell of you now threaded
within those very seams.
The thoughts of you, embedded.
Conceded, to dreams.

I was never good at holding on,
and even worse at letting go.

~~~
Written by Styxian
Published
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