Poems to Express: You could only do what you did.

I part
from your levee-eyes,
emerald green,
long eyelashes passed down to me.

Always, almost wet,
as if they were begging
for some kind of forgiveness
we never had.

Confined forever
in your inability
to be anything different.

Lost in the portions
of virtue and vice,
shores of whiskey,
half your fault.

And still I’m the one underwater,

spilling,

grasping, 

flooding.

From the stream-depths of this ache,
you could only do
what you did,
and there is not enough time
for it not to be enough.

But tears that escape
also redeem.

For whoever holds certain waters,
just like you,
can be swallowed by them.

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@Izabella Casagrande, 2026. | All rights reserved

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