You wave your red flag, and I flash my yellow warning sign.
We are two damaged people pretending to heal,
acting like orange is the colour of recovery.
A compromise between our worst faults.
We could be worse, so we call ourselves good.
You wrap your fist around my heart.
If I ever try to leave, it'll be torn from my chest.
I let sugar fall from my lips and slip salt in your coffee,
giving you the parts of myself that I deem worthy,
keeping the rest of me boxed up out of sight.
You tell me to leave.
The words emotionless as you push me towards a locked door.
In hindsight, we should've seen it coming.
This wasn't love.
It was a battlefield,
filled with a rush of adrenaline and a need to survive.
Desperate, pleading, and clawing at each others throats,
hoping to stop the bleeding but suffocating each other instead.
You promised me the world as if the world was yours to give.
I promised you my heart as if I ever had one to begin with.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
