it's going to be the last time,
for the first time
you and me,
in the rain
with our tangled ribcage
falling...
through honeysuckle promises,
to revive;
death.
,
etched deep in our bones-
secrets;
of our laughter,
left in yesteryears
tattooed on our lips,
is the pain
that you and I inflicted on each other
the melody sinks
into our ballooned lungs,
as we drown.
the symphony crackles
on the crease of our crinkle;
and the bedspread
remain
undisturbed
,,
the beachside
crashes waves in fervor
as we moan in the moonlight
you and I
melts into one
long pause of suicide pretense,
yet in semicolon
we linger;
like a twine
holding
the pour of a broken branch
...
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
Thơ caA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
