people and things break us beyond repair
And we write pretty lines about it
and call it poetry.
But it was never this pretty,
It was never this beautiful.
These words falling off pages gracefully
cost blood and tears.
They cost the bags under your eyes
you unwillingly carried around
They cost an urge to be invisible for just a moment
They cost sleepless nights and restless days
They cost wandering minds and hours drenched in sadness
And questioning all that you ever believed in.
People and things break us beyond repair
We write pretty lines about,
call it poetry
and pretend we are fine.