A pain doesn’t grow. It is always there.

There are no words.
It crushes me, this understanding that I sat and took,
Gan deoir.

There are no words
to say
that will change.
Except, I am not loved.

Over
and over and over.

I am not loved.
I am not loved.
I am not loved.

I cannot be
angry
You were a painter
and now your paintings are so full of dead children
and men bleeding black tears.
All innocence is forever stained. Forever
there.

I am not loved.
I am not loved.
I am not loved.

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7 thoughts on “A pain doesn’t grow. It is always there.

  1. “You were a painter
    and now your paintings are so full of dead children
    and men bleeding black tears.
    All innocence is forever stained. Forever
    there.”

    this is great. try and try as i might, i can’t seem to decide whether you mean this figuartively or literally… and why would you want to be loved by someone that loves nothing? someone that only sees the dark parts of life? she sees dead children and crying men-where are the flowers and the puppies? and all innocence being forever stained…*sigh. you speak of my life.

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