The Abyss

side view photo of woman
Photo by Yasin Gündogdu on Pexels.com

Rummaging through my Poetry course portfolio to churn something out before the end of this month, be like…


There’s a deep dark place

in the corner of my mind

evolved,

shaped,

fed by the despair that

my love is not real –

not the love I thought it was.

And when I remember,

oh, remember –

that sweetly snide face

of Nevermore.

I fall down,

down,

into

masochistic

crying

rituals,

solemnity,

and tears

and where the walls

of self-doubt close upon me every night

because I’m not worthy.

I’m not owed a drop

of response and

reciprocation.

Soul-pangs

are an insufferable bitch.


Should I retrieve my poems from my latest Poetry course from this summer, before they disappear? I jotted them down so quickly to make time for other classes, yet the poems truest to my heart have been the most introspective.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

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