He buys me the flowers you never did,
Beautiful with an ugly truth I face,
I’d choose life with you and an empty vase,
A woman yearns for her past, God forbid.
What do I do with this leftover love?
Guilt whispers I grieve keeping you secret,
He told me he loved me the day we met,
What you and I had was sent from above.
Nothing artistic about all that pain,
Bled against my will in ink on pages,
Making sense of love in desperation,
Witnessing colour in my face drain,
Grieving in only the first four stages,
Functioning again, thanks medication.
About the Creator
Chloe Corcoran
Daughter of God who feels deeply and uses writing to make sense of the chaos of life
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