Bully

Never ready, aching like a muscle in the heat.
Tired and silent, hoping for it to pass on by.
To float through like dreams of change.
Holding my breath.
Catching my heart.
It always comes, they always do.
Those feelings of love that split my cells.
Love. Love. Love.
Even when solitary sense surrounds.
It doubles down.
Attacking where I’m weakest.
You know how to make me feel.
Punching the darkness out of me.
Leaving halos around my heart.
You come on with your disease.
Spreading like an immunity that I will never possess.
Tasting the trauma of before, I hesitate to move.
Watching while the soul dances the dance.
Bones that break with ease, cannot protect a heart that bleeds.
For you, seep on through.
Forcing me to love you once more.

30/08/202230/08/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: disease, love, soulTags: art, attack, blood, bully, disease, feelings, heart, hurt, immune, love, poem, Poetry, punch, soul, soulmate 4 Comments