Our constant reading of palms is like a candied curse. You and I grasped our knives tight, and I can't even tell who cut the ribbon first. The call of the angels claimed you and I had a chance to clear the air.
Can you rationalise through close recall of every event and pick the person that committed the fault of the century to hate? Everyone justified the knot of my embroidery, yet I doubted the hardest. I knew you're not lethargic.
To end a kiss of light and feathers is to let everything incinerate from the carcinogenic actions that you planted. You took your letters away and let the pages fall to the floor as you plastered on your facade.
You cut the person that cut you, yet you know that she needed to. You repelled her and she repelled you, a putrescent and unendurable end. You prayed to know the cause and now you know, she couldn't handle your containment of loss and the cost.
The reunion came out of caprice and fate hovered over, I knew of his presence the entire conversation. Apologies came crashing in and you learnt of your avoidance, and I plastered on the love. Fate knew it couldn't happen, and his hand rested on my cheek.
I look at you and you look at me, clinging onto past memories and trying to hold a conversation even as his face darkened. You and I knew it couldn't go on, and yet could I comprehend it? Looking at your pictures, I knew it had ended. You've learnt to love in other languages.
Our hopes are cutting pieces of a healed heart into hearts of fleshy chaos. Even if I can't remember the happiness, could I return home after your misguided love? I could have known that the past only lives in my head, and that I have to push it out to live com menos arrependimento.
In the complete night, I know of the perturbation. The eulogy condensed, an eternity to none. Riddance to your chapter, love and light. This is the end of the plight.
© Sincerely, ♡ - August 2024
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My Guts Create A Tapestry - Poetry
PoetryThis poetry is strictly copyright, it's all written by me. These poems tend to be written sweetly so you could be reading the most gorey poem and it'd be like it's romantacised. I don't try to romantacise them, it's the way I write. You'll possibly...
