It’s time to stop writing,
when you go from,
finishing each others sentences off,
to wanting them to end.
-Wesam El dahabi.
Maybe I can write through pain long enough for it to go away,
Maybe pain doesn’t get it.
Is it my sentence structure, my grammar, my grief filled quill?
Perhaps it’s pains, comprehension skills.
Whatever it is, we’re not seeing eye to eye,
This platonic back and forth, between pain and I.
You once were impervious to the fault of my prose,
And I ignored the destructive nature of the words you chose.
I took it with stride and a pinch of hope,
And hoped our relationship would blossom and perhaps we’d elope.
Wander off together to the edges of sanity,
I’d give you a voice and you’d bring me tranquillity.
Alas this relationship seems to be severed,
And both it seems at the ends of our tether.
So go, leave me, find someone else to bother,
Don’t you worry, I’ll keep writing, and find someone else to smother.
But I still love you, once tasted, there’s no going back,
I’ve got pages to prove it, once white, now inked black.