This is how I let you down
not slowly
not between soft breaths
but hard—
like concrete meeting the back of the head—
your disappointment may be lethal.
I may stop breathing in the night for sympathy to your pain—
I no longer look in the mirror,
there is nothing new to be seen,
nothing to be changed;
my heart beats like pouring rain.
I do not love you. I cannot let you go.
My arms are rusted iron cables on a suspension bridge
one storm away from collapse.
B.A. O'Connell lives in Nowhere, Texas. They have two very lovable cats and insatiable appetite for poetry. They have dabbled in witchcraft and believe firmly in the power of words.
