#melacholic
The tea is hot
Despite the atmosphere
At 10 degrees
That was the last time
I had tea with you
I asked you for a picture
You stood beside me, awkwardly
My sixth sense could tell me why
I placed my hands on your shoulder
My heart was colder than the weather wrapped in many layers
I was admiring your beauty,
In that background
But you were even better,
My love, My love
I thought we were invincible
The last time you bath me
Was full of reluctance
I was a child seated on a stool
The bathhouse was fogged up
It was blurry, so was your love too
Lately, I start swimming intensely
There was no where
For my weariness to participate
But, only in the water
I used to hate it when
My goggles fogged up
Because then,
The water would be blurry
But look how,
I seemed to have embraced
This certain kind of callousness
I remember telling you
If ever one day,
You have to make a choice between me & someone else
You do not have to,
I would have already chosen for you.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
i'm screaming under the layers of sounds;
i don't know where they're coming from,
but they keep pointing at my broken heart.
the edges of this glass-piece contraption between my lungs
sing like static against my rib cages,
muting the sound of the words i've been aching to say.
the sound of the tearing resonates relentlessly like the rain,
and there is comfort in the sound,
but it feels heavy in my chest
like the apologies that rotted in your throat
before you could tell me everything.
i'm screaming under layers of sounds;
i don't know where they're coming from,
but they keep pointing at my throbbing head.
the thoughts that rage sound like breaking glass,
and they create shipwrecks in my calm mind.
the words that you said still bombard the walls of my skull,
carving every sentence that i wanted to hear from you,
but never dared leave your mouth.
perhaps i'm going crazy, but at least feel a tad bit honored
that the way my head spins
is all caused for and by you.
i'm screaming under layers of sounds;
i don't know where they're coming from,
but they keep pointing at you.
you used to be my symphony, my only melody,
but you left me a broken note and a crooked key.
the parts that you planted your kisses on
decided to sound like raging storms and sirens.
the way your fingertips trickled down the line of my back
used to echo the song of the stars,
but now they hum the world's saddest tunes.
you buried me beneath these sounds, and not even i can hear my soul.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC