The thing about bridges
There is a revolving door in my chest
where people come and people go.
Sometimes they leave so fast,
and sometimes they fade so slow.
But they always go.
And they tell me time will heal all,
but sometimes it heals wrong.
Because I am stuck still burning
underneath the bridges I thought were strong.
And bridges cannot carry the weight of words unsaid,
no, they cannot carry the weight of "it's been a whiles".
Most are built with faulty foundations,
and cemented together with devious smiles.
Most crack under the weight of false pretenses,
until eventually they all collapse.
So now I have become cautious,
about where I choose to stand.
Afraid to be crushed,
I have made my heart a revolving door,
because all of my bridges have been damned.
