a poem for the broken hearted.

This is a poem for the broken hearted.

For the abandon.

For heavy eyelids,

and led boots.

This is a poem for those who wonder

if they'll ever be able to shake the thought of their ex-lover.

But pray they never do.

This is a poem for those who's hearts have been broken so much,

that it only pumps sawdust into your veins.

For the constantly hazy eyed,

constantly drunk,

constantly stomach punched

constantly hurt.

Constantly changing the songs on your ipod

because every single one reminds you of her.

Because she has branded a hole the shape of herself into your soul.

Left you so fucking broken,

even God looks at you and shrugs his shoulders.

Somedays, you will wish your snooze button was a noose.

Somedays, you the only thought more unbearable

than the ones about her,

are the ones where your mother is watching your bloody shirt

tumble in the dryer.

And somedays, youre worried even that thought won't keep you alive.

But listen,

you are not a human sacrifice.

I am not a human sacrifice.

I will no longer bleed in your name.

I will no longer drive past your fucking house,

and I will no longer look for you every time I go to a coffee shop.

And I will no longer look at red ford focuses

hoping you're behind the steering wheel.

You're never behind the steering wheel.

I will no longer cry after I have an orgasm.

I will no longer imagine that the girls I fuck are you.

I will no longer fuck girls.

See, I'm 24 years old and I still think love

is in the front drawer of a one night stand.

Every morning for me is empty,

dwelling in a place where the sun never rises.

Because some days, I still think you were the one who put the sun there

in the first place.

This is a poem for the broken hearted.

I know that time is your friend now,

and it seems like she even broke the hands on your clock,

but the crow bar she jambed up underneath your ribcage,

will rattle loose again.

And that shit hurts even when it's coming back out.

And every time someone says to me “it gets better”

I kinda want to punch them in the throat,

but it gets better.

Eventually,

after a while.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.