A grief,
so ambiguous.
I have yet to,
comprehend-
why I grieve people who are-
alive.
Why do I mourn you,
as if you're dead?
Pathetic, right!?
My heartaches for you,
your heart no longer beats for me.
you breathe an unwanted life.
you cut your— dead not so dead,
subtle pale skin.
Tell me, why do I feel bad?
Like I couldn't done something?
You're still here aren't you, just
in an arms reach?
I weep for you,
you shed tears for yourself,
you only ever cry to yourself and
you laugh when you cry.
You are waltzing in life's air right now,
feeling, breathing and having a bleeding-beating heart.
You have blood running through your veins,
you have scars that have yet to fade.
You are still alive.
But when you tell me-
that you no longer want to live in this cruel-cruel world anymore.
I feel as if you are slowly dying already.
Every word you speak of wanting to be a dead woman.
I feel as if you are already a
dead woman.
I feel as if your body has already started decaying and your scars have faded.
I mourn for that dead woman, that I knew.
- author
YOU ARE READING
I wish that I didn't write these poems.
PoesíaVarious collective of unwanted poems I have written; for people who are fond of the subjects of heartache and who are disorientated through the navigation of this world. Let me share this with you. My emotions are inconsistent and messy, please in...
