beggars would ride.

i wish i could
paint my sorrow
and then, maybe,
you would understand.
but i am
nothing
but lazy brush strokes
and tears.

i smile my truest smile,
all bittersweet and sad.
still, there is joy
and potential
and a lovely future.

(just not the future
i painted
when i was young.)

i will sketch my love
in a thousand
shrouded corners
and sing praises
to your virtue.
but you will never
feel
my adoration again.

there is something lost,
something set adrift
on the cruel currents
of my mourning mind.

what was once my
dearest devotion
is now
the illegitimate offspring
of our human bodies
and lascivious minds.

it will never again
be just you and me
you’d rather another,
with the addition of “we.”

i can only adapt,
i can only evolve
as the innocent past
now gently dissolves.

 

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