All About Him

Blondes were always better than me.

My lamps we're ashamed of lighting our lighthouse, my quartz walls soaked in sour sweats as I hold your inexpensive hands, filling the gaps in the cracked floors of my purse pockets, feeling your singed and scented bones.

I would try to lit up the mined golden leaf pages of our Journal, take the fantasy into lies.

You'd trust your gut, not your flesh. You'd reveal your curtains, not your dragonfly wings. The sore words that came from your brunette jaw felt like dark clouds fading the colors in my sharp rainbow, creating a miniature ache, swallowing every gushing guilt in your grape lungs like nothing ever happened.

Honey drops of sweet words that came lingering in your papaya bile.
Sweats from the quartz walls came spreading in my pillow sheets.

Tarnished silver that came melting in your luxurious stomach.
As the fire burned down just to only cinders, just like our love, leading the smell of decaying flowers like the smell of your t-shirt.

She were the black and blue bags that would float in your blue waterproof eyes.
While I was your sleepless nights.

Your breath carries tornados and running clouds that would fog up the skies and As I endure the rain that would make my leaves fall, sirens and thunders in your mouth that would make me deaf.

I would train my flashlights for your pitch black darkness that blindfolded my eyes and trapped my sight in crimson bars, never getting to escape one endless chapter that you've created.

You had fireflies on your tied stomach, trying so hard to give a perfect alibi, emitting words that you'd keep on the tip of your pebble lips.

Magma from the brewed sunsets that would blur the ends of my folded face, melting asphalt on the roads of my chin.

If melancholy was a fire, it would emit like a lion fiercely roaring, it would spread in my barreled mind like fire spreading quickly in a house soaked in the smell of gasoline. It would fight the water from my tear drops like my curtains fighting the washed up air, I would fight the emotions like I would comb my whirlpools to untangle the tangled mandalas of emotions, the tears drenched in rain, and the emitting melancholic fire that left me in pain.

Fire has a silhouette, but why can't people see mine? Just like a burnt house, you got over those volcanic erupts, but just like a burnt house, it still left prints of powdered ash tears and emitting words that I would bury in my wounds, just to remember those emitting days that would burn my pale skin, framed in the polaroids inside my mind.

I never forgot the fact that
you were an athlete,
an athlete that not only
plays sports, but also, love.
Yet, i lost over a game of
"Me or her?"
In that moment when you threw that ball, in the directions of mountains where we used to walk, I would imagine that ball was me, orange tint like the tangerine sunsets we would have in the afternoon, the open pores where bruises would start spreading a blue and purple hue, just like my beaten up heart.

You would throw me in the weaved basket of mourn and sorrow where I would sleep in your suffocating arms and not a pillow, almost like my sleep was my final one. You'd choose her over me, like choosing over a useless trophy than a hug of support, Her name was on that golden medal which you promised to carve it on your heart, I tried to be the champion of your life, but I was tired, those beautiful sunsets are now my final sleepless nights.