Up and down
like a yo-yo
twirling between
your once loved
fingers
in and out
like a monthly
cleaner
getting rid of
your dirt
hiding the dust
under the bed
together with
forgotten underwear
and long hairs
from women
that are less
loud
or
less angry
or
less hurt
or simply…
less
than me.
there are
no words left
to write
for you
or songs
to slowly whisper
in your ear
my poems
will now belong to me
and the songs
will be just an echo
outside your doorstep
I will not break
glasses against
the walls
I will not scream
inside my pillow
or punch the door
you will never see me
angry as you wished
because you will
never see me
again
and remember that
these words are
everything
or maybe
words
might be
my only thing
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