Under the hollow in the ground,
I find the unspoken words quaking, meaning to be let out
I turn my back on it, so that I can convince us both how hard it is,
to love a ruptured soul.
The sun shines bright on me,
I close my eyes and cease to weep,
How does it get better?
I phase in and out of my creed, penetrating
into the darkest corners exploring if the questions have been erased.
I curve back within myself again and again, falling asleep.
I lay down on the floor staring at the ceiling, wondering if it speaks
in words, in thumps, I try to reach.
Over and over, I cross each room, finding no water to drink,
to suffice the soul within.
It’s been empty.
Scraping the unrealities of my being, realising how it isn’t easy
for my hands
to leave the things
it holds with much unease,
it hits my mind suddenly,
how my world revolves, but wrongly.
How do I learn to not think over and over
about the many things getting
deeper and deeper
within
until I’m lone?
Fresh and stale, it feels as I open the windowpanes
letting the air touch my skin
Making the dead pigmentation flee, I breathe.
The voices caught in my throat long to travel to places
I’ve been scared to be at, they wreathe dreams
out of dead petals of flowers, longing to bloom even when I haven’t.
Being hopelessly in love with a memory, I recall the times
I sang merrily.
It fills me with joy, to think of my world to be as happy as it used to be
Like a gentle flutter of a butterfly’s wing feels on the skin.
So I say the words that water flowers,
‘Guess, I am falling in love again, with me.’