We have this only wall between us.
A rusted wall—ruined and worn away.
We want each other in everything.
A musty smell, a salty memory on our eyes,
A never-coming smile, A dewy second of never meeting again.
Our frames never come closer;
We can only scratch and scream,
burn and never heal.
But we never broke, like ever.
I hate to break things and people.
Because once fixed, they're dangerous—
way more than the hot, raw burns and purple scars.
The sun's set behind your blush.
Darling, let's go home—but it's never over;
Even though we're falling apart.
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A/N: I guess they deserve a vote for their optimism and trust in each other. What do you think?
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
