The Lost

Beverly Tan

Beverly Tan

In my heart you turn over

As if it were a grave

And I, an abomination.

The clock is riddled

With the stitches of

My former occupations,

Those great loves which

In passing are unspoken,

Forgotten by all save the lost.

I have seen you in his arms

Spilling over with laughter

Desperate, as if love were

Only sweet when absent.

If I had been colder, perhaps,

You would have held me,

An impudent fire

Threatening to evaporate

The frost in my mangled veins.

Now that you have become me

I have no pity for you at all,

Only foreboding for what is

Invariably to come. Believe me

I would not see you broken,

Though I have no right

To determine the nature of your mistakes.

It really is impossible

This loving business, it requires

Almost nothing to incite

But takes everything on collapse.