bike, rusty, overgrown

I hate to pretend

Verbal Photography
Verbal Photography
I hate to pretend
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I hate to pretend

I don’t miss you

amidst the harsh simmering alienation of silence,

where my eyes scream

to catch glimpses of images of you

carousing through my mind.


I hate to pretend

not to be haunted by your absence;

not to cling jealously to vanishing embers of your smiles

as I savour the effervescent sparkle of your eyes

that once brightened the empty rooms of my heart.


I hate to pretend

not to feel angry at powerlessness

at raucous paroxysms of loneliness,

which force dreams to populate voids

and banish emptiness lingering far too long.


I hate to pretend

we still have robust conversations,

joust in jest,

inveigle language,

tiptoe over words,

and scrutinize phrases for secret meanings;

while your tender laughter

lurked like gracious ghosts,

softening the walls in my heart.


I hate to pretend

you still sit across the table,

ask probing questions,

lounge effortlessly on my eyelids

and to nourish my imagination.


I hate to pretend

to be brave and feign strength;

to shore up the ramshackle scaffolds

erected around my brittle soul,

where battles to keep you alive falter;

while I observe my pain from a distance,

trudging forward like mercenary warriors – no questions asked.


I hate to pretend

that life is fair.

For, it is not.

It will not restore you

or repair my frayed heart.

But having pretended for so long,

I forgot how much I hate to pretend

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