I'm not a graceful person.
I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset.
I'm a Tuesday 2:00 am, I'm gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I'm a broken window during the cold.
I fall from melancholy with a dull thud and I sometimes believe that I don't belong with people and rather belong to all those leap days that didn't happen.
the way light and darkness mix under my skin feels like a raging storm.
I'm not the lighting but you'll hear my echoes.
I'm a disaster-
the worst of it's kind
and yet,
she still had the audacity
to tell me that I was worth her while.
worth her love.
//but the way we ended, says the contrary//
YOU ARE READING
blue
Poetryto @CALLOUSEDTOUCHES. her eyes were the same color as the sea in a postcard someone sends you when they love you, but not enough to stay. her eyes were the cornflower blue, the hue of the most magical things in life the sea, the sky and all my reaso...
