Rivers

Running into an old friend...

"Rivers run to and fro,

beneath the branches of her lashes,

staining her lids with black smudges,

painting her cheeks with soft dashes.

Along her gentle jawline,

down her neck and to her chest,

where the source of this flood pumps with aching pain,

begging her brain to forget."

Forget "You". Forget "Us". Forget "We".

Funny how common conversation and the use of pronouns mocks the agony encased within my ribs.

Locked up like a lethal weapon,

a shameful secret,

kept quiet,

hushed,

smothered,

silenced to avoid disrupting the meticulous balance I've kept between my seemingly sincere smile and a warm "hello".

Yes, all is well.

As we engage in meaningless small talk,

we lock eyes not for the sake of conversation,