It shouldn’t feel like this:

this gasping agony
ricocheting through my veins,

this scream that will not birth itself
and relieve me of this pain.

It shouldn’t feel so bad –

this guilt
congealing in my veins –

but it does.

I’m told heartbreak
is a kind of bereavement
and I believe that now

because you hover
in my heart’s peripheral vision
like a phantom

and all it would take
is one push to exorcise me of you.

But I haven’t even got the strength to do that.

© Keighley Perkins


About handshedown

Keighley Perkins is a Cardiff-based poet whose influences include Anis Mojgani, Selima Hill and Richard Brautigan. Her work has previously been published in "Acumen", "Elbow Room", "Erbacce", "Fire", "Northwind" and "Obsessed with Pipework". She can also be found online on Twitter at @handshedown. View all posts by handshedown

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