Fragments · Poetry
she knows the words to a broken heart disease all too well
caraphernalia memorized front to back, overwhelmed with things left behind from loves before
and if she doesn’t then "misanthropic drunken loner" takes my second guess
they say, the devil works hard but god knows nobody would’ve lifted me out of rock bottom but her, i’d challenge them and say, she works harder.
she never raises her hands in defeat when it comes to compassion, her perception of loss is fogged with the stain of love.
years of holding space for each other, dedication never looked, or felt, so easy
i know when she speaks out of upset she speaks with diction, words are not to be wasted when they carry weight
“i love you” never depreciates in value, even after all this time- if anything, it ages sweet
over a lifetime i’ve watched her crumble and use it as a means of inspiration for her next project, her legacy lives in the hollows of my heart, with her art on the wall; and i knowing her soft manner could take on destruction at anytime
but she doesn’t
from playgrounds to adolescence i’ve, as they say, “attended a thousand funerals” of who you used to be. to have known, and to continue to know each version of you from cradle to casket
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