120 per minute

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Hope you’re good without me pulling your chest closer

Or making hair stand on your neck when I call you a poser.

It’s been a day since I’ve made you laugh so lightly.

I wish I could forget how I called you mine, nightly.

The thought makes me cold but what makes me shiver

Is how you sold me down the river

In less than a heartbeat.

My heartbeat. That’s 120 per minute and counting –

Should I chase you? That I’m still doubting.

After you had it in you to bleed me dry in a low place.

After for one brief second I didn’t give you the praise

You turned your back like I was never yours to play with.

What a fucking story! Or am I lacking the wit

To understand how it feels to betray someone who clenches your waist

During the best of mornings, worst of nights – until it all goes to waste.

I’ve been waiting for your mercy differently lately

But my arms are heavy and lips move sedately.

It’s hard to explain how much I need to hold you, despise my instincts

Yelling it’s more than you’ll ever need me – but in that instance

Is there anything left to lose for this selfish brain of mine?

I’m letting you destroy my concrete barriers like dynamite.

It’s just that kind of night.

-JW