Poems

The tips of your fingers penetrated my pericardium that night, but you didn’t pull my heart out.
Instead, you left it there, blackened and trembling; haunted by the unbearable truth that I was losing you.
Your touch was an esoteric spell, decipherable only by those who understand the longing and loss, an enchantment that seemed to say;
Stay, even as I unravel you.
The moon hung heavy; a pale accomplice to our sins, its glow casting ghastly shadows in a room that seemed to breathe.
I felt your presence in every corner; as if you were the architect of my melancholy; building walls of sorrow with each glance.
The bruise of the night deepened, spreading its ache, its sweetness almost sadistic,
a reminder that pain can seduce as easily as it wounds.
I wanted to cry out, to collapse, but you held me in that delicate tension, a string pulled so tense it could only break.
Your eyes never met mine, leaving questions unanswered, and though my soul begged for release,
I could not resent the way you stayed just beyond my reach.
We were a paradox –
two halves of a moon, never whole, never apart.
And when the dawn came, cruel in its clarity, you left me there, untouched yet irrevocably altered.
I traced the silence you left behind, a scar beneath my skin, fading, but never gone.
-Lauren Jane

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You are the knife I turn inside myself,
a blade turned blunt on the edge of longing.
I yearn violently-
like a wound craving salt,
like air torn from lungs, desperate and raw.
A red candle burns for love, wax pooling like desire left unattended, melting into something shapeless, something ruined.
I dissect the moments,
performing autopsies on the silence left between us.
Each word a relic, each pause a grave.
Stained glass holds your absence, splintering light into sharp geometry.
Each shard refracts not your image, but the colours created in your wake— a cathedral of devastation,
where devotion crumbles into ash and seduction.
Your name winds through my ribs, etched in marrow, inescapable.
It keeps me warm, and it keeps me bleeding.
-Lauren Jane

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When he breathed his sadness out, I breathed it in,
A cycle of ache where no one could win.
I traced your ink-stained pages, a desperate plea,
Hoping the words would make you see me.

But your voice was a blade, so sharp, so thin,
Tiny paper cuts that carved through my skin.
I’d spray perfume into my wounds—what a torment—
If only I knew you liked the scent.

I hope the hurt you caused flourishes like a pomegranate,
Each seed a guilt you must poke and examine.
Let the red juice drip, stain your hands,
A scarlet reminder of love’s harsh demands.

May my soul haunt you, fierce and untamed,
A specter of beauty, never reclaimed.
Let the memory of me, like a blade in the night,
Cut deeper than goodbye, sharper than spite.

Love is violence; it tears, it feeds,
Look how we bleed from all this need.
Hearts entwined in a painful romance,
A love that wounds at every chance.

-Lauren Jane 

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I say I would cut off my hand
Before it reaches for you again—
But there it would lie, trembling,
Fingers curled in longing,
Waiting for you to hold it tenderly,
To press your warmth into what’s left of me,

I say I would cage my heart,
Wrap it in iron and lock it away,
Before I gave it to you again—
But there it would rest,
Dripping in blood, fragile and bare,
Beating out a rhythm begging to belong to you,
Even as it breaks.

I say I would never waste my breath,
Never let your name escape my lips again—
But there my words would rise,
Whispering in the wind, soft and hollow,
Carried from my burnt, charred lungs,
Each exhales a confession.

I say I would suffocate these feelings,
Hold them beneath the waves until they vanish—
But they rise again like stubborn ghosts,
Haunting my nights,
Waking me in the pale, empty dawn.
They linger, demanding to be heard, to be felt,
To be yours.

I say I would walk away,
Leave you in the glare of what was—
But my shadow dances back toward you,
Even when I run,
I carry you with me.

-Lauren Jane