I felt my eyes open,
in an achingly slow speed,
as I hoped to see your body next to me.
And I saw you.
Your mist of a ghost,
as it deluded me
in believing that we're still two halves
of a whole lovely soul.
So I touched it,
and it diffused into nothing,
nothing like me,
as I couldn't define myself anymore
when you left me.
Is this what life supposed to be?
How can death be worse, then?
YOU ARE READING
Dark and Beautiful
PoesíaSometimes my thoughts and hand bleed so much poetry I can barely stop them from leaking onto the paper. But sometimes, too, my heart bleeds too much blood that I couldn't write poetry anymore.
