true love isn't always forever

justice, like her name, carved
into the lines of his arm, inked
with a specific purpose. she is
still, and always, and the longing
of her embrace tickles his mind,
slugging him in the stomach like
oversized baseball bats, like thick
wood connecting with soft flesh,
a bruising sense of purpose. he is
crying out in pain, crying out for
change, doubled over in realization
that life is not only unfair, but can
be cruel, as well, serving not to be
a judge of what is right, what is
so very wrong, and he finds
he will not sleep, only toss
softballs to the bats that sock
him in the gut and remind him
that just because she's written
on his flesh, it doesn't mean she
will remain a part of him, as well.