Death by Situationship
I will forgive myself for the poet,
the one who made me their slaughtered darling, syllabic enjambment,
for the crops that never came from the dead but velvety soil,
for misplacing my love into his
warm cave of horrific wonders.
6 thoughts on "Death by Situationship"
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Shew, felt
Enjambment has been handled or misplaced by me for years and I make no apologies. I just keep on and on like Old Seventy Creek moving toward the ocean.
this one shivers deep!
wow: for misplacing my love into his
Oh dear! Effective poem though.
I love this–but I can’t tell you why–such is love sometimes
Powerful–especially the last line!