the slow art of breathing bitter

Fifteen

It wasn't any fall that time — it was me falling into what I thought 

was a clogged pond of roses and daffodils.

The month was October;

The first time he,

took a piece of my heart

And molded it to perfection.

It felt like getting bathed after a century

in the holy water of sinners and

the damp green of dark heavens.

His fire kisses, how perfect.

Little did we know, we all were imperfect.

We hid away in the crumbling mountains,

and stood near the broken waves;

All those camphorated tales of love.

Stained mirrors, broken promises;

Crumpled lies, tattooed excuses.

But he was wrong the very moment

we were scorched in bliss.

Lovers like us crater our skin,

'til the waves swept away our joy.

We're too afraid of ourselves, honey.

And we were the forgotten stars

in the summer sky.

The questions remained unanswered,

etched on our pale blue flesh

as the hymns shattered into painted glasses.

The cigarette burned out

like our hundred lives

'til we exploded as meteors upon the soft earth.

We loved and made a riot

of blasphemous portraits and drowning waves.

But we never felt whole,

Even when we were for each other all along.

Because he kissed me

and planted a promise of "forever" on my lips.

We wanted to save each other and make history

when meteors crashed into reality.

We were fifteen, and we were wrong.

Everything dragged us into hell,

and we meant nothing from dusk till dawn.

——————————————

A/N: Well, the little stars actually mean so much! :)

©March 12, 2023. Sreeja Naskar