My whole body is a wreck
legs too tired from carrying around what's left of me
that are never home.
My arms are in pain
trying too hard to hold the falling pieces
My eyes are burning
because of these tears that are never enough
to let me drown.
I said I am fine so why am I not
The reason why I look away when
I notice his blue eyes gazing at me
Is that I am afraid if I stared into
them for too long I will drown
Now that he is gone,
I long to drown
Inspired by Dane DeHaan’s eyes in **** Your Darlings.
if love ever had your eyes
if those arms where ever meant to hold me
or if I was just blinded by the desire
if the words you spoke
were ever about love and admiration
This is not another poem about the love
I never received from you
You left me
with many questions
those I never had the courage to ask you
The words I wish I could speak
The sun entering my room
breaking through my window without permission
like bullets breaking through the air as they own it
reflecting on my walls, as beautiful as it gets
just reminding me of the things that I am missing
crawling in my bed
made of unchanged sheets and remorse
a wet pillow to collect my tears
and my exhausted mind to hate the intruder
that tries to light up the darkness
without the real intention to save me from it.
I wish night time could come earlier
to reflect what’s inside me
to show the sky without the stars
as dark as the night can get
as dark as the city sky
that reflect the artificial lights of the streets
with no lights of his own.
A significant flow of thoughts are following each other
in a succession
I try to catch them
to make sense of my own mind
to clear the thick fog around the vocables.
They are fast, slipping through my fingers
and slowly become my worst enemy.
As they escape me
my mouth becomes a cemetery
with no visitors
You don't deserve to live on these pages
you don't deserve to walk free through my mind.
I will lock the memory of you
in the box
in the darkest corner of my mind
where all the bad things lays.
When I will talk about you
when I will bring your memory back to life
I will not remember as a nice person
I will talk about you as trauma
as something that left a nasty scar
all the flowers
growing in me.
— The End —