However, sometimes the best cure for a broken heart is indulging in the writing of a little cheesy bad poetry. So with no further ado I give you this fine specimen.
It’s over now, and all that’s left
Is the fantasies and the memories
The what ifs and maybes and might have beens
And the ghost of your touch still on my skin.
I close my eyes and feel you on top of me again.
One single thought of you can take away my breath
Or leave me gasping for air, feeling the hole in my chest.
It gets smaller and larger as the days pass by
Pulsing, screaming, aching, leaving
Only to show up again when I least expect.
It would be easier to hate you, but I find that I can’t.
I want you too badly, too madly, sadly.
And how can this be the end?
When there was never a beginning?
And how can I let go?
When I’m only holding on to smoke?