I have issues, this I know.
For my history tells me so.
But you were different, never the worst,
never thinking I was cursed,
or flawed.
Maybe if I still believed in God.
But it’s painful, sometimes,
you and me,
the way we be,
is it heaven or hell
(it hurts so bad I cannot tell).
And I still love you.
Or I think I do, or did;
split apart, god forbid
in hide and seek if I hid,
because you would never search for me.
It’s leaves on the branches in a tree,
our love the breeze,
our bodies dashed on the ground,
broken skeletons of plants dissolved,
so I let you go.
Pith and Prattle 