Nothing Ever Ends Poetically

There's nothing poetic about,

Crying in a corner where no one can see,

Holding your breath and sobbing,

Behind the door for hours.

So no one will know,

How your bones are giving up,

Carrying the weight of your sadness.

Nothing ever ends poetically,

It ends and we turn it into verses,

All the blood and all the ache,

Has never been poetic.

It was always just red,

But we write about it anyway,

Hoping one day, it'll heal the pain.