I'm sitting here on your lap, hands clasped, heart attack, even though we spent the weekend, I can still see my world ending, I'm fending off fears of my own contribution to the deity of these emotions and my heart isn't going to stop damaging my ribs Everytime you pop into my head and this feel of bliss has long since passed, and now it's ethereal but I still cry every second night because I don't deserve you
1.
I bought you flowers on Tuesday morning. Red roses and baby's breath.
2.
I bought you a single rose when we went on our date on Saturday.
3.
It's days since I've entered in this entry, and I can't help but think about how you told me, if you were any less creative than you were now, you'd kill yourself.
I don't want to admit that I shed a tear when you weren't looking, at the thought of having to face this world alone.
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Relapse.
PoetryA place for me to write poetry whenever it arises in my lungs, when I have no air to scream these words that haunt me into my days and night
