I am in love with a man who bleeds sunlight
and whose eyes wash tsunamis against
the harsh shadows of his lashes on his cheeks.
He hides an untamed storm inside of him,
waves crashing into rocky shores while the sky
drowns in blue; and I drowned in him.
He is not a robin, but he carried my heart
through bleeding skies and fireworks.
He is gone now, chasing after new dreams
while I bury what he’s decided has died
and choke on the secrets I never realised
he kept from me, hanging on my wall in
a morbid display of blindness and loss.
My heartache is a war cry in the darkest night,
shattering the windows of my soul until
tears leak out to grow a new Atlantic,
now that I cannot look in his eyes again.
I drown in the knowledge that he has
covered me with scars from wounds that
never were mine, but that I bled from still.
I hope one day he can learn to love
something without making it bleed, and
maybe I can learn to remake my heart
out of something that isn’t glass, and
not to giftwrap it every time I feel warmth,
and to stay far away from the shore.
- He is a hurricane, and I have always loved storms. c.s.