The Morning Knocks

This poem is for the boy that hugs
like bombs are strapped to his chest;
for the girl that kisses like she’s
making out with the grim reaper.

Tonight they will f*ck like wild animals
and love like it doesn’t exist anymore.
Tomorrow they will forget like first names
and regret like first loves.

I guess when your heart looks more
like blood coated shrapnel its safe to
say love is a battlefield. A gory one full
of skeleton bones and devious land mines
you step on that proves love is blind.

She wonders, if it wasn’t why would
it hurt so bad. Why does it always leave
you drunk driving down memory lane
with deep scars on your wrist and hangovers?

No recollection of the night before.

And eventually she leaves.
But the pain is still there.

The same place her heart used to be.