Of Broken Suicide Pacts and Terribly Lonely FightsMature

Probably needs a new title.

Sometimes on those

cold, dark,

winter nights

curled in my bed

and huddled under blankets



from monsters

like a naïve



I thought about you

and tried,

in vain,

to ignore the pang

in my chest;

an ache

that could be felt

in my bones.


I wept

as I thought of

your stilled heartbeat

and the bright scarlet

of your blood.


And I'm sorry –  

so sorry – 

that I wasn't brave enough

to keep our promise;


I am sorry

I did not let

the monsters take me

with you.


Because now,

I am left

to fight them


The End

3 comments about this poem Feed