PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sometimes I think maybe when you said

you would come back

you meant when I was drowning

and once you had buried all the branches

in the perfect snow.

You would come back like a promise

I barely recognize.

You would come back and tell me to

survive.

I bury the keys to all my doors

and leave the silver in shatters,

right now

locked is better than overflowing.

Sometimes I think maybe when you said

love

you meant war.

There were certainly

enough casualties

to fill a textbook,

my heart my head my hands

someday the slices will grow back

and the rivers will fill

and there will be nothing left you have seen.