A thing that must be done
to take things from better to worse
who can say where it will end
till something breaks
and someone ends up
dead or in prison
the hurt spreads
but I will not be devastated
I will not be judged by the guilty
nothing shall be redeemed till justice be done
bullets, car crashes, liquor and pills,
All end you, fast or slow.
You will never get back what you’ve lost, you can only hope that you
Forget what you wanted
And how it made you feel, before you got crushed by desolation
We don’t talk anymore; I
Pretend it’s mutual but
It was you who decided.
Perhaps I wasn’t good for
You, though I always tried to
Be good to you. For the best,
I tell myself, while the you
Shaped hole in me aches, empty
It makes me itch not
To talk to her, but
I hate myself less
I planted my misery
Deep in the ground, hoping it
Would die and leave me in peace
Instead it blighted my crops
Withered my orchard, left me
Desolate, dry and barren
They have replaced my broken
And tattered heart with a dead
Man’s, so now I can live. But
What will become of my soul?
Bitter catharsis
Leaves me drained, devoid,
Exhausted, reborn
I am sure it gave you no
Satisfaction to watch me
Take a fall, and recovery
Was a foregone conclusion.
All the same, have a great life.
Do not talk to me again.
You know not how to stitch a
Wound, to tend it so it heals.
You can only twist the knife.
Herman’s Hermitage 