Poem for Samantha

Salvatore's picture

Mess.
Debris, flotsam, jetsam,
Oh!
All the pieces
I am left to pick up.
The world is sleeping,
I am cleaning the shattered glass
Within my head.
Bruises
From fights for you
Taint my face.
My war paint,
My battle wounds.
The silk memory of your skin
Turned to calloused wool.
But for your taunts,
I will feel
Nothing.

Man, this girl has killed me. I thought I'd be over her already, but it seems that I'm not.
This was written on the spot. I'm rly tired.