queue

They’re at the door again,
waiting
in
a
line.

All the ones who caused damage.
They carry their particular cruelties
and wait for their turn.
There is no sound.

He’s first.
With his sweetness.
The one you had to break.
He carries the heartbreak you taught him.
He’d never felt it before you.
He brings you guilt.

He follows.
With his rage.
The one who broke your body.
He carries your blood, skin, tears, scars.
He loved to push your limits.
He brings you destruction.

He comes after.
With his carefree life.
The one who brought you to your knees.
He carries handcuffs, a ring, and your tattoo.
He loved to keep it casual.
He brings you false promises.

He’s last.
With his mystery.
The one who broke your heart.
He carries your tempestuous love.
He loved to keep you guessing.
He brings you sadness.

They all move past,
silent.
What you carry is so heavy.
Their gifts are yours to keep.

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