Blooming

I was so alive

before I held the hand

of the dead.

I mastered the art of lying.

Not to the world, but to myself.

I convinced myself there was flesh

over the bones that reeked of disaster.

Your skeleton gripped me and whispered,

It's okay.

This is how love

is supposed to feel.

But your love felt hollow; like bones.

Heavy like stones

and doing what I was supposed to do

and feeling what you told me to feel.

I saw straight through your ribcage

and into your heart.

It hadn’t bloomed yet.

August, 2022

@lyndibreypenmanship

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