Flies in the Rice

Thin threads of love across my tongue
Spread out like branches
To give me something to suck when the days are long
And they always are
Since he's been gone.

I'm not surprised, I try to tell myself.
I tell myself I know what happens
Every time.
The constant is pain.

The temporary is pain too.
I miss the days when there was a wave here or there
Of relief.

When you lose something
You choose to believe it was pure.

You believe it was pure like an unexpected
Arizona snow.

I have nothing good anymore
But I have nothing bad either.

I just have.....flies in the rice for protein.

Reviews

[ogirhsog]

Your poem doesn't really have any rhyme or rhythm, so it can't really properly be considered a "poem". It's also rather unclear just what it's supposed to be about. Perhaps you could expand it a bit more and add some more details so as to make it more clear just what your poem is actually about?