it’s a kind of death. [poem]

eighth prompt: a love poem. this one turned kind of dark. it’s from the perspective of an outsider to love – someone who is trying to make sense of another’s toxic relationship but can’t fully understand because they’re not within it.

hand swinging from the rope of an arm

it’s a kind of death this is

this love is.

smiling into the darkness

the tip of a candle casting

light across the white of an eye

that knows what it’s like to die

love that swims in the potion that I

can’t seem to fathom.

it’s too far for me to understand

but I see what that rope is

doing to your hand

and you can’t stop it

no you can’t stop it

no you can’t

ssh

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