Conor Young

Rookie (02/06/93 / London)

A Phone Call - Poem by Conor Young

Standing in the mirror
The phone
Hot against my ear
Stomach tight
The true pain of a breaking romance
I am begging
You promised me forever
In all your long love letters
Our love is real
It can last
With you I have nothing
I love you
She says my name
Not like a lover
With passion, no
She is stern
I am silenced
We’re not right for each other
I love you
I know you love me
I can’t understand
I was made for this
I was yours before I met you
She sighs
I do not love you anymore
The line goes dead
She’s gone
I am alone
With my tears

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 1, 2010

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