The Break-Up

The Break-Up

When “I care about you”

means “I feel nothing”

and the emptiness of that nothing fills the air like a cancer,

eating up hope.

Because suddenly, I no longer matter to you

and not mattering to you means I don’t matter at all.

You’ve passed over the co-ordinates of my significance

and you have robbed me.

My tears no longer move you, my pain is of no concern,

Sweep us under the carpet and let responsibility gather dust.

The end is a pain that stretches from my eyes to my gut.

I shake, throwing off the residue of happiness.

I cry out the joy, every last piece and replace it with potent memories

and sharp thoughts.

I am nothing but I don’t feel nothing.

I feel everything, defined by my pain.

A bloated, quivering ball of “please”

A sadness that will not leave me.

I carry my rejection to bed and wake up in its arms.

Squeezing that terror of loneliness until it’s seeped into my skin 

and I am all lonely, all alone. 

I healed myself with tea and toast on the serpentine.

Butter and jam melting worlds away from despair in a toilet cubicle.

Never cut your hair before a break-up; you’ll feel too fabulous

and wonder why this new found confidence doesn’t spread the pain 

thinner.

They told me to sit here as long as I need,

It’s good to be alone again. 


 

The Bench

The Bench

CRY

CRY