Shreds
My heart strings tugs
as I remember you.
Why is it I can only write my poetry
in the peak of the moments
of falling in love with you?
This teases my feelings
and pulls at my tears.
I thought I was free of you.
I wanted to be free of you.
I’m not sure if I ever will be now.
Your words still flow fast as ever,
just not at me any more.
I miss those days of ramblings, talkings, musing.
You are my muse, and I miss you.
If only I could be your muse now,
maybe you’ll find me desirable again.
The memories still hurt.
Thinking I was over it,
I was reminded again
and it all came rushing back to me
and the same pain is still here,
just sometimes buried.
There’s something not right;
you being able to control me.
Your words make me scream now,
I can’t even read them.
Not without my sight becoming blurred by tears.
It’s not right,
you leaving me,
me leaving you.
I can’t help but feel
that there’s still something too beautifully right
about this shred of love I have left of you.
