We used to believe in
happy endings but now
they feel like a fever dream.
People we used to trust
can wake and leave us for
dead the next day like
we never shared secrets,
never shared laughs,
never shared pain.

It's nearly unfeasible
Out of the question
To rest with shards of a
fractured heart slicing
between your ribs.

You toss and turn, you
breathe, you stagger
to your feet and still
you can't seem to
shake the ache.

Everything that reminds you of him,
tears a new fresh sharp wound.
It is agony. It is heartache.
It's supposed to be a false alarm.
We're supposed to laugh and prove
our love can withstand anything,
even us.