Dark Poetry




The pitter-patter outside
Creates a steady rhythm,
Evoking a kind of lull.
Yet none seem to be
Loud enough
To silence, to hide
The uncontrollable sobbing
That still echoes across
The haunting night.

Offering a broken heart
May seem too cheap of a move –
I’m sorry, that’s all I have;
Was it selfish of me
To want it to be yours?


Broken goods are unsatisfactory –
Don’t you know that?
Who wants what’s been discarded
After a thorough use?


Broken as it may be,
It’s still full
Of the possibilities – an endless amount of it
With you.

Take me;
I promise you’ll never regret.


Oh, but what if I did?


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