Poetry - Lovelorn Diaries Vol.1

Summer Ade Fly-aways

As even if I was on the other side of the spectrum would feel as horrible anyway.
Nothing changes if we were both damned to be dead in the grave, when we die and our memories fade we ponder and deem it "fly-aways".

And Caught myself excusing staying up 5 minutes late though I dare to but I resist for sleep's own sake, Cause I make promises to indebt myself to my own head space.

And then I fall in crepuscular hours, bending matter, and can't bother to go sleeping on days when you don't fall for my graces, indefinite laughter which drives me to disintegrate then savage my dreams of evermore with your pulse blood and mind of treasured ways I could never invalidate.

But why do I yearn you, you're just another free-will, I hear you in my head when I feel that I forgot your grace, Oh God I'm Really Doing in Again.
Can't you leave sooner from this thoughtscape, A paracosm of childish mundane, I hate to see myself fiddling my fingers the rest of my summer aide, it's so childish in my school shoes and mind attainment of my mothers sayings, to strive more than the rest of your camaraderies, do it for me.

All ease to be left on display, another short-lived-favorite place till they show a flawed teeth and tragic lings built on design other than life after the school uniforms and bags, with their fervor to their school and their class.

"My friends believe in fate, they play the games and cards, I stand to watch and see, they ponder and scorn to see what's in store beyond closed doors.
The lovers out on the corridors, and you come out so suddenly I would deem it subconsciously, oh damn soliloquies!."

I marked your name and not your code name on my eulogies and my notes on my social securities, I caught your number on my friend's dating groups, you probably crushed and fumbled as you stumbled to steer your eyes to their faces and wonderstruck you can't help but to exist in the same places as they.

But I can't hold things against what I don't deserve, of what is better than me, of what is a wilted rose to a pearl in the sea, and what becomes of me, As my petals fall on the ground whilst they are kept to be seen and showed around refracts like stars on one's neck and glean from the higher ground.

And I almost fell down like the heart of the sea, but I'm just a plastic bag that pollutes and sinks to the bottom and floods your streets, and they'd move on an ponder of something worth like a million dollars, sharpest diamonds found in the deepest caves subject of socialites and standards.