Thunder covers the
sound of me whimpering into my pillow.
The earth is crying too.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

“This is my last time”,
I said 4 times ago
As I paint my brittle fingernails
Red with blood

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

Your skin is mist,
like cold before a storm,
to the touch

Palms are hydroplaning
an essence of something
that's about to change

If poems were ***
then,I wouldn't be a ******
i would caress the letters
fix a foreplay with title
i would literally **** the words
to give birth to soulful sentences
if poems were ***
I wouldn't be ******,still.