Early Morning Bullets

I only allow myself to feel the sting of heartache

in the silent, dusty corners of

the early morning hours.


You are the pea under countless blankets

that I still cannot ignore. Instead,

I lay fixated

on the tiny sphere which bruises my sides

with every toss and turn.

You’ve never left my bed.


Hours so small I’m the only one awake

to feel their pain, the attention of mine you don’t deserve

only granted from the solitude of night.

How I could never let you know that my ignorance is fake,

turning my eyes from you takes a giant’s will

and a mute’s silent vow.


I woke up Thursday morning to the construction next door

sounding like malevolent gunshots,

my unconscious believing I had been mortally hit.

I woke with your name on my breath,

clutching my chest and waiting for you

to save me. You weren’t there.

You wouldn’t have been,

you never were.


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