Bastard

A low pounding
A slow throb
A tight squeeze
The ache of a broken heart.

I’m supposed to be over you.
After all, you’re not even real.
You’re someone’s imagination.
But still the ache.

I guess I just hate to lose.
You were mine once.
You tore my heart out,
Stomped on it, ripped it in two.

Take a deep breath,
This feeling will soon pass.
I can’t love you,
You’re just a dream.

Besides, even if you were real,
Who wants a lying,
Cheating bag of scum?
Bastard.

Melanie Taylor
March 18, 1998

Go back