Clowns

27 Apr

There are things,

in love

worse than loss.

Worse than endings.

There are things that scrape

Things that wound

Things that leave

scars and spin webs

that hang for the innocent

to stumble through.

Things that send you

wandering.  Blinded.

Hands outstretched, reaching

towards any glimmer of

something

other than cold, damp tunnels.

The darkness consumes

anything

left alive

Eats it slowly

Bit by bit

twisting joyful memories

into doubts

Into lies.

Whispers they were

never real.

Leaving the victim

to navigate

to stumble

Clinging to any hope that this

maddness, this

nauseating carousel

will stop.

But it doesn’t.

It won’t.  After all,

it was never love.

If it was, I

wouldn’t be here.

Tossed into a labyrinth without

heat, without feeling.

Without end.

There are things

so much more malicious

more destructive

than mere endings.

I’m learning that

from you.

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