"He'll never like you,
nor, love ya."

The reality has slapped me hard.
So hard.
But I must go on,
I must sail my ship to another harbour,
And leave, the old one.

He's such a saint, and I'm a sinner.

"We shouldn't love, we're different."

Like a ****** hand that holds thorny roses so tight,
I let him go.

I let him go, like I let my blood dries up, after I throw the thorny roses, away.

We aren't mimi lan mintuno.


;


I was never his mimi,
And he was never my mintuno.

It's hard to breathe when all your regrets are bouncing in your chest
that hollowness
and the never-ending echo that vibrates throughout my entire body

Have I made a mistake?

All the connecting, glowing, and seemingly sweet certainties have faded

I stand here stricken
My accomplishments in hand
And crumbling

Pieces of the last few years forming into an outline of your face

My fingertips pulsate with warmth as i recall your touch

I've never felt anything
Anyone
So perfect

So smooth and soft and unreal

Moments like these never last, do they?

We were so tired and yet so eager
To intertwine

Fixated on deep breathing
The flavours of eachother's mouths
And the momentary synchronisation of our existences

You're always so busy

And i'm always leaving

It hurts to entertain the idea
Beyond temporariness
But i can't help myself

I know you told me to say it less and yet
I am still sorry

I will always wish for a chance to get to know you
And for that I am not sorry

For once

It shouldn't be a problem and it is.

I should be happy, but I'm not.
If I were a seaside, I'd be one time forgot.
Swings rusted still, and women of an age.
Same season all year, like dried ink on a page.

Getting overtaken, doesn't mean you lose.
It only meant you shone so more when came the time to choose.
Wind can be so vicious as it stings across your face.
A gentle stabbed reminder to always know your place.

Eventually what you will find is your heart does turn to stone.
Or constantly you feel the pain has seeped right to the bone.
Now at this point it really is so much easier to say.
Just leave me here and I'll wait in peace until you've had your day.

Smokey musk of mist-soaked moss
by roving river bank,
where dainty doe stands tall and fair
where long-lost love once sank.

Dew-soaked coat 'mungst moonlit woods
a chestnut, hazel brown.
She stalks the brooks, thin, lithe and cool
where once-loved life was drowned.

She walks his path from long ago,
her shadow echoes loss,
"goodbye," she whispers, "I'll miss you so."
as she fades into the moss.

A snowball inside, with no snow,
Just layers of guilt and nausea below.
Layers, wrapped, one on top of the rest.
Layers of nausea and guilt, stressed, pressed, wrest.
And the ball is rolling around inside,
Picking up more nausea and guilt on its ride.
Getting bigger, getting fat.
Blocking my airways, leaving me flat,
On my back with nothing but dry, hollowed cry.
Salt burning my flared eyes.
I'm sitting inside,
The snowlessball, heavy, wide.
I can't see past it, I can't see behind.
I'm looking straight, directly at it and try, I try, I try to cry.
To drown it, diffuse it, dissipate.
It doesn't. It sits there, full of hate.
Hate and nausea and guilt,
Layered, patched like a quilt,
Waiting for ME to quit.
Me and the ball, in the middle of things,
Between us a chess board with no kings.
Only queens, inside my skin,
And all queens can fall, and all queens can win.
I have the black ones and he has my sins.
Spread on the board my sins and my queens,
Between me and my guilt on a mid summer's nightmare.

They say you shouldn't let your mental illness define you,
But I don't remember life before it.

I don't remember how the world looked,
Without this grey filter.
Or what colour the sun shined,
I don't remember how it felt on my skin.

I don't remember who I was,
I don't remember myself before my mental illness.

I only remember now.

- p.d.e