Sometimes I think of you
as the weakest link
to the whole paint
that covers the wall at home.
Because you're the first one
to c r a c k and p e e l off
from anything that includes
both of us.
First one to let go of my hand.
First one to pull away from our kiss.
First one to refuse,
to disagree, to neglect.
First one to b r e a k my heart.
And now that you're gone,
I see my self crumbling.
A painted wall full of cracks
like d r o u g h t in the summer.
»»»
YOU ARE READING
Dark and Beautiful
PuisiSometimes 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.
