The-Bad-Taste-It-Makes Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

When it comes,
It comes not to leave.
It seems to stay there eternally.

When it comes,
It's hard to breathe free.
Eventually it's shown on one's sleeve.

Heartbreak!
No fake the aching.
Or escape,
The wounds inflicted hard to shake.

Heartbreak!
No fake the chasing.
Or erase,
The bad taste it makes.

When it comes,
It's hard to breathe free.
Eventually it's shown on one's sleeve.

Heartbreak!
So hard it is to go away.
Heartbreak!
No fake the aching.
Or escape,
The bad taste it makes.

When it comes,
It comes not to leave.
It seems to stay there eternally.

Heartbreak!
No fake the chasing.
Or eliminate,
The-bad-taste-it-makes.

When it comes,
It comes not to leave.
Heartbreak!
No fake the aching.
Heartbreak!
No fake the chasing.

When it comes,
It comes not to leave.
Heartbreak!
No fake the aching.
Heartbreak!
No fake the chasing.

When it comes,
It comes not to leave.
It seems to stay there eternally.

Heartbreak!
No fake the chasing.
Or eliminate,
The-bad-taste-it-makes.