The 12-Year-old poet collapsed

He was weak

He couldn’t see

Tears impaired his vision

It stung to blink

And hurt to feel

 

He couldn’t speak

His voice would only say her name as he cried out for her

Knowing his opaque room walls were his only listeners

 

He couldn’t think

Thoughts became tangled in his conscience and the finished product was nothing more than a cluster of could haves

Would haves

Should haves…

All he could do was pray

Pray for some mercy

Pray some compassion

Pray something or someone that would free him from this hell known as heartbreak

 

Then… She came

 

She offered her condolences

She gave some advice

And made a promise

 

She promised to never leave him

Never lie to him

Never disappoint him

 

She promised that he would never again cry

He’d never mourn

He’d never ache

 

All he had to do

Was that he’d put the Poet to death

 

She lightly kissed his soul

And whispered to his ears

 

“Death to the Poet who loved

And was too naïve to understand

That his efforts were useless

That he’d forever be clueless

That he was cursed to be alone”

 

His thoughts joined in

Happy that they had something new to hold onto

Happy that they were free from the bondage of memories

 

“Death to the Poet who believed

And thought she could be the one

The world was so cruel

Exposing him as a fool

Leaving him to drown in his doubts”

It was as if a new air had filled his chest

As if she had replaced oxygen

Just as she had replaced pain

 

“Death to the Poet who smiled

And sacrificed to keep her smiling

For if he strived to be her knight

If he tried to be her light

He still wouldn’t be enough”

 

Apathy continued to speak

Her venomous words somehow brought him peace

His blood raced through his veins

Passing on her vile message

 

“Death to the Poet who trusted

And placed her opinion over his own

He’d always hear lies

That’d lead to his demise

Solo was the way to go”

 

At last, his once loving heart

Had rebuked everything it had known and had taken in her message

It pumped poison proudly throughout his body

 

“Death to the Poet who feared

And wanted her over anything else

He’d only bring more shame

To his already poor name

Execution was the only option”

 

By embracing his pain

The tormented poet grew numb

And for the first time in a long time

He felt relaxed

 

So, inspired by his new partner

He did something to this day he’s still paying for

He let go…

 

He dropped his care

He released his intimacy

He banished his emotions

For they were things of the past

A past he wished to forget

 

The tears were gone

But the chills remained

His thoughts were right

But his soul was stained

 

The sadness had left

And so had the pain

But there still is no sunshine

It continues to rain