thing is a cold goodbye.
No trembling voice.
No rehearsed compassion.
Just a clean cut
that doesn’t pretend
to heal.
You leave without
nostalgia.
You leave without the
fancy of a 'what if'.
No strings.
No soft corners.
No memories left to
polish later into
tender reminiscing.
Raw, unflattering wounds.
The bruises that cannot
be romanticized.
The kind that makes
you cringe when their
name surfaces.
A disgust that protects.
An embarrassment
that pushes you ahead.
A decay that doesn't
grow back-
A dirty breakup is
A strange mercy.
Ohh that freedom
that comes when
even longing gives up-
Insects gone for good
from the den of head.
Ohh when the empty
cages come closer
to peace,
The feelings you kill
becomes an act of
self-love.