I need to go, you said,
walking away without
a second glance, turning
your head away to avert your
sight. You never want my presence,
or my attention. Better for me to
go, you said, with your harsh words and
cold tone, treating my affection
like poison ivy, not daring to
touch it. You run across the glass lane
full of old memories, with your iron shoes
you smashed it into pieces of sharp
debris. Always, I pick up the fragments with
my bare hands. Always, they were wounded.
An imitation poetry of Tania De Rozario's 'Space'
As a part of Year 2 Poetry Coursework Submission 'Emotional Capsule'
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