Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2020 · 135
WEDNESDAY.
My whole body is a wreck
legs too tired  from carrying around what's left of me
to places
that are never home.
My arms are in pain
trying too hard to hold the falling pieces
together.
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
Jun 2020 · 146
I WONDER.
I wonder
if love ever had your eyes
I wonder
if those arms where ever meant to hold me
or if I was just blinded by the desire

I wonder
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
Jun 2020 · 117
SUNDAY.
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.
Jun 2020 · 111
NOTHING.
A significant flow of thoughts are following each other
in a succession
of meaningless
words.
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
Jun 2020 · 167
YOU.
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
that infected
all the flowers
growing in me.

— The End —