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I know misery, she haunts me
2am, 3am sleep eludes me.
a song I didn't need to hear plays,
invoking unwanted memories.
everything sounds like her,
everything looks like her,
although nothing is her
because she is gone,
gone yet eternally present.
between my ears,
living in my tear ducts,
crowding my brain with
memories and regret.
should I burn her letters?
tear up her pictures?
(like that would banish her)
from my brain,
from my heart.
nothing does that
she's always with me...
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About the Creator
ᔕᗩᗰ ᕼᗩᖇTY
Sam Harty is a poet of raw truth and quiet rebellion. Author of Lost Love Volumes I & II and The Lost Little Series, her work confronts heartbreak, trauma, and survival with fierce honesty and lyrical depth. Where to find me
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