woke up to the bitterness in my mouth again
stuck on my throat
so i thought i’d get rid of it
for you.

woke up to the bitterness in my mouth again
i am still telling myself
putting this in words isn’t in vain.

these fingers used to run freely
tenderly, through your hair
and through this nest of thoughts.
unruly, but surely, telling me with certainty
i am deserving.

lately, they are hesitant and careful
as if there is nothing worthy to boast about
this silent room is made for poets
i can’t hear anything.

woke up to the bitterness in my youth again
and it’s telling me you are the last thing i need.
as i sit by my bed and try to count the lines in my skin
not as if there is still light within.
still, i tirelessly burn them until they turn blue
one by one, reminding me of the days i could have spent loving you.

they will write you beautiful letters
you will be part of enchanting melodies
somewhere this piece of crumbled paper won’t reach,
but it still knows, i am trying
for you.