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10 Strains of Poetic Melancholia Circa 2022
(Better known as those poems of mine I’m willing to spotlight from 2022.)
If I should perish, do not cry for me.
That’s what I told you, but you didn’t listen. Even as I stand in the gateway between this world and the next, I can still hear your sobs echoing back as if you’re calling me to some unknown precicipe. But will I fly or fall?
No one could tell me the answer.
I ask myself this question every hour of the day that passes by. Time flows differently here, but I’m still lost in those last words we shared when our emotions were at their most volatile. You said you hated me, and I snarled back that I despised you even more.
Then I never came home.
What kind of story ends like that?
Those last words hang in the balance.
They’re the challenge, the lynchpin, the cornerstone. They’re the knot from which we began to unravel. Those words fall back to our fraught history where we caused each other more pain than we inspired happiness.
Yet, even through the thin strand between us now, I can still feel your heartbeat as if it’s my own.
