just say it,
you don't want me like I want you
you slip between my fingers
like sand,
I start to grip
and you slip right though
until all I'm left with
is little grains of you.

you'd walk away,
and never turn back
you'd forget about me almost instantly
cut me off, delete me from your life

in fact,

I wouldn't be surprised if you've already started
had your fun before you departed
and now, like weaning an infant off
a mothers breast
slowly and surely,
you'll put this to rest.

you say you love a writer but
these words could never be true
for you don't want me,
like I want you.

Silence,
beautifully cherished between soundless glances
or love locked eyes
of after sheet trances.
for you once said to me,
“silence my dear,
is not the absence of sound
but the presence of something else.”
both capable of taking me to my greatest heavens,
or paving my quiet path to hell
this fact and uncertainty both
fills me with joy
and frightens me to my very core.
for it feels as if you’ve taken my words for nothing but fairy lore.
yet, I stay mute
I’ll sew my lips shut
stuck in this purgatorial
entrenched rut-
deafened,
by the screaming silence.

Give some love, follow a friend & wonderful new writer

https://hellopoetry.com/DBongos/


x

The rain puddles in the cracked city pavement, a drowning vision of striking familiarity. Nostalgia encasing those mulling over their Earl Greys in coffee shops. A wooden stir dissipates the bubbles in the steaming liquid, contrasted by the cool droplets streaking down the ordinary windows. As breathing slows, eyes lock deep in thought upon the bustling, grey castle streets. She slows as she steps to the sidewalk, meeting a gaze before they realize. Her face like snow, her lips like two tiny rose petals just starting to push from their blossom. Her eyes as dark as they are deep, rounded and child-like. Coming to, the strangers been locked on one another for just half a second longer than deemed socially acceptable. She breaks stare, adjusts her bag; and with her hooded head to the ground, makes her way past the old coffee shop.

the shadows dance on the spot you left
indented in the mattress
a reminder of its emptiness.
we destroyed ourselves in the nick of time
to sell our souls to the new age
and uncover all the sins we wished to find.
the wind shakes the trees and my bones
our bodies no longer a place we call home
through trouble and turmoil
you'd think we'd have grown
but instead, we're trapped
in crowded bars, streets and houses
alone.