the next time
you try to rub salt
in my wounds

i'll smile at you
with apathy
because

i've already
hit rock bottom
and made it
back home.

the thing
that upsets me
about people is that

they mistake
ashes for weakness
and i find it ugly because

when i bloom
i rise from the ashes
regardless of their oblivion.

run away
from the
pretty lies
the in-between
fake promises
the guilty
eye contacts
the half-hearted
apologies.

there is poetry
in the way the tongue
falls in love with the body

and there is poetry in
the way the body yearns
for it every time ever since then.

you and i
we'll move on
and forget all of this.

and maybe we'll even
find whatever it was that
we were looking for elsewhere.

and perhaps
we'll understand
why it ended the way it did.

but what we had
was precious and it'll
always exist somewhere.

in dying leaves and
the silences we shared
and maybe, the moon too.