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nadine 7d
this is what it feels like to love you;

its almost as if
im a meager child
waiting by the windowsill,
leaving parts of myself
i thought i didnt need anymore,
yet as days and nights flash
before my eyes,
i wonder if this is how
i dreamt to be
when i tuck myself to sleep.

its almost as if
im walking in the darkness
with nothing to guide me
but my own foolishness,
grasping at any broken material
just to keep me from falling —
yet much to my own dismay,
i lie here in the cold floor –
mangled and barren.

and i ponder;

is the universe
trying to keep us together
or apart?

this is what it felt like to love you;
just as how icarus loved the sun.
too besotted.
nadine Aug 2018
when i am with you,
i feel
particles of myself
slowly sweep away
until
i am no more
than an empty entity
of existence.

instead,
i am
a melancholic siren;
consternation constanly emerges
from the salty ocean
i baptize myself in
to rid myself
of the blood of agony
on my lips.

sailors enchanted
by the wicked melody
i speak of;
eyes closed shut,
listening closely to
the languages
my mouth formed;
demise imbuing
their eyes
for this sonata
is bewitching yet atrocious.

yet you pay
no heed
to my woes,
even after the
nights transitioned
into light years;

i call for you,
you dare not
look back at me;
for i looked
just like everybody else,

just another
mistaken identity.
z, this one’s for you.
nadine Aug 2018
yearning for something
i desire;

what lies beneath
the ivory duvet
when the rays of the sun
spares a shy glance
around the nook and cranny
of your room;

hands aching
to lace around yours;
waiting to taste sweet you,
bitterness slowly creeping
up to its own demise,
this is why the maidens
sung their hearts out
to accompany
the grieving tremors
that shook the faulty edges
we had built,
atop of guilt and uncertainties.

flustered sheets scattered
on the floor,
pieces of myself
i can no longer get back to
whilst a gaping hole
greeting my own eyes
held a fragment of truth and silence.

( this is not my home;
this is the apparition’s
treacherous threshold. )

yearning for something
i lost;

the warmth of your embrace,
contrasting with the
glare of the sun
pouring down on me,
easiness could never
give justice to you;

sly brushes of lips against my skin,
as if chanting
bohemian chants
all over me
to get out of this
witchcraft that we call love;

longingness in your eyes,
a renaissance painting
in front of you,
begging to feel
the constellations
in your hands
cascading through
every vein in me.

still, i feel something coil
deep inside me,
were you truly mine?
again, you fill me with doubts.
nadine Aug 2018
i am tired
of waking up
in the middle of the night
at the sound of
my skin tearing itself apart,
i can no longer remove
the stamp of
your lips and hands
off me;
my sides splitting open
so my scars ensconced
deep beneath the surface
can tell the story
of how i fell for you.

i am tired
of staying up
with nothing but
the company of the moon,
awaiting for its eclipse,
blinking away
fragments of what we had —
filled to the brim
with adoration —
although fleeting.

memories of
how you held me —
only distant.

again,
the clock chimed
unforgivingly,
reminding me
of late night drive throughs
around the crevices
of my wreckage of thoughts —
spilled and separated;
full of you,
only you.
(until now)

milky boy!
nadine Jul 2018
a distinct feature
in my appearance
would be
the bags under my eyes;

i remember staying up
until my bones quiver
under the bewitching spells
of the moon’s forgotten raving sonatas,
enticing enough to cradle
an iota of dejected sentiments
from centuries and centuries ago.

i remember looking up
at the night sky
until my eyes flicker from dust to ashes,
burning the crevices of every wall i built,
graveyards broken down
to match the unmatched
bleakness of the ignominious sorrow
peeking out of the corner of your soles.

i remember laying down,
not once had silence became overbearing
that i could hear the faintest brush
of a weightless feather falling
from a tainted nest,
aching to meet its pernicious lover.

i remember closing my eyes,
shifting everything elsewhere;
still, i dread the feeling of compunction
emerging deep from
the landmines of mistakes
that i had claimed as my home
and my shelter.

but this, i could never forget:
i remember
being envious of you;
how you do not
lay awake at night,
wondering if things
could have been better.
i still love you (always)
nadine Jul 2018
recurrent moonlit distractions
captured by words
tied down into morsels;
separated and concealed,
contiguous yet sheer greetings
of each other’s skin
had left wanton burns
and gushing streams
of a brooding lover’s propensity
for unsusceptible matters of the heart.

there, he stood,
on the precipice of tomorrows;
ruminating and scrupulous,
forlorn yet never dithering
over mundane and quintessential quandaries
of the tepid gloss of incertitude
dangling off syllables
dictated by sordid agony.

there, he stood,
in the midst of everything;
from the otiose adoration
poured out of empty caskets
to the lenitive shades of his eyes.

with the ripples of moonlight,
the gestalt of doleful flower-like hearts,
there, she stood,
and waited.
and waited some more.
nadine May 2018
i woke up next to you again,
red wine lips
slightly parted,
a contented sigh
escaping out
of crushed cherries.

the night is still young,
you had said,
a lopsided grin
crawling its way
to your sinful mouth
speaking in dead languages.

( do not lie to me, darling )

i woke up next to you again,
eyebrows furrowed,
small hands traveled to mine,
soft whilst never unwavering.

you begged me to stay,
never letting go of the
edges of my shirt.
insides stirred,
i watched you in awe
as you pat the spot
next to you.

( just this once, i let you do as you please )

i woke up next to you again,
gaze already set
on my visage.
a lazy smile and a kiss
greeting me.

this was love,
you had thought
but you were
wrong.

( tonight will be the last, mi amor)

i woke up next to you again,
clothes tattered and torn,
lifeless eyes greeting me,
sheets splotched
with regret and blood.

grief and love
are no such thing.
prey  and a predator
nadine Mar 2018
i can be whatever
you want me
to be,

i can be the waves
crashing down
to the shores
to find solitude
in your arms,
aching to seek everything
i can never truly have;

i can be the treacherous current,
sweeping you away
from the palms
of pandora's box,
reaching out
to lay their mouths
( shut / stitched / knitted )
filled with tribulation.

i can fold myself
into neat edges,
abandoning every ghost town
i conquered
and called mine,
every window sill
attached with symbiosis
and laced with piles of
'sorry' and 'forgive me.'

i can be metaphors
clinging around every part of you,
wishing to be liberated
from reveries
accompanied with memories
of how you held me
with qualmy and shivering hands.

so tell me
because
i can be
whatever you
want me to be.
so please dont leave me again
nadine Feb 2018
this is
fiction
and nothing else.

you and me,
twisted by pretty words
with senseless meaning.

laying down,
restless nights,
tranquil walks
with sober souls.

holding your hand,
a four leaf clover
stretched onto yours,
you kissed mine.

waiting for the howl
of misfortunes,
i clung onto
your kaleidoscopic smile,
you stayed.

but,
time and time again,
this is fiction
and nothing else.
don't let it fool you, i've been there.
nadine Feb 2018
how foolish of me
to think
late night conversations
could lead to
a sterling amount of love
cascading through me

but all it ever left
was a gaping hole,
stretching itself beyond
to greet the bane's den.

the neverending loop;

stuck-up little poet
thinking it would be
different,
poor little heart;
it had suffered enough,
let it rest.

little girl calling herself
a poet would like to know
what to do
with these memories
of warmth
from her
sun-kissed hand.

« no, no »

how stubborn of me
thinking
i could no longer be
time's fool.
im sorry. i love you.
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