Regret never leaves.
we only ever know how to dress it
and  make it easier to carry around.
my regrets are familiar figures under tulle .
they dance at the corners
of my periphery.
if i had chosen differently,a bit wisely-
will these ghosts still haunt me?
or will it all be the same?
just another ghost
with just another pretty face.

the truth is,
not everyone is good at this.
not every breath goes in
without getting caught in your throat.
no hands are ever good at holding on,
especially when
everything seems to just slip away.
some eyes never run dry
and some hearts never seem to
run out of pieces that break.

sweet little girl,
here's your silly paper boat
we hastily folded on a sunday afternoon
with the sun so hot outside
you swore it could burn all of our sins
to crisp.
here's your silly paper boat,
that melts upon water's kisses-
so you offer your body
to the river instead
then we would float on the water
like dead men.
and you swore it was easier that way.
here's your silly paper boat
sinking the way it should
on the pool of your own blood.
sweet little girl,
you were like your silly paper boat.
weightless and
so tired of sinking.

i am sometimes tired.
of feeling too much
or feeling too little
and of filling the gaps of my ribs
with  uneasy breaths.
i could not explain it,
-that tiredness sometimes
reach beyond bones.
and i am tired of carrying it.
and im always scared
of the many ways that a body
could give in to it.
of the fact that a heart knows nothing
but to beat.
and how it also knows
when to just stop.
im not sad, just scared.
and im sometimes tired
all the **** time.

"how could something so twisted be so good?"

Back in elementary, we were taught how to add the suffix "-ed" or use "was" to indicate that a verb is in its past tense.

At some point of my life, I found myself crushed at the weight of such simple words. I can comprehend what these words imply wherever they may sit in the order of words in a sentence, but I can now never let them slip away without wondering about the why's.

Why is it not here anymore? Why must it end?

There's nothing there anymore but the absence I cannot help but feel and burden upon myself.

At the same time I understood it completely. That the only justification for it was the fact that life has to go on, even if it may hurt you because you are not ready.

I was never ready for it.

And now I'm here, making a big deal out of verbs in their past tense.

God, I used to be very happy.

I wonder why I  keep putting my own doubts and fears before everything else my hearts says.
Like I'm the songs in my playlist that I always skip.