Atelophobia, The Fear of Imperfection.

She dressed in all black,

with the most colourful mind.

Questioning the universe

about how beauty is defined.

Is it not strange that autumn is so beautiful,

yet everything is dying?

Do we really know when one should go on

or whether the time has come for us to stop trying.

It is hard to keep believing in good,

when they insist on leading you astray.

There are some people you will never see again,

at least not in the same way.

I was on fire,

and you used me,

To light your cigarette, my love.

So please, tell me if you enjoyed tearing me apart?

Because now,

I break people.

To try and mend, what is left of my ruptured heart.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741