Three in the A.M.
Only source of light was the street lampNight skies were clear, stars twinkling
but the room was flooded from crying lightningGold chiffon dress from last night's prom crumpled in the corner
I was devastated, my soul's a gonerAre women's tears a lethal weapon?
You didn't even bat an eye when I was crestfallenWe're playing Russian roulette and you ended up being the one pulling the trigger
I said, we don't need revolvers when your words are like daggersSorries were said till I didn't even know what I was sorry for
but no amount of sorry could stop you from walking out the doorBe honest, tell it to my face
Did you even love me in the first place?I know I'm complicated
Words of love were hard for me to pronounce so that's why I was doubted?Bad at love, always giving the wrong sign
Sometimes I did things I didn't mean but all I need was for you to be kindComplimenting other guys was just a way to test you
If you knew me better, all I could ever see was youHow could you know the words I never said?
When we fell apart, you seemed gladTruth be told, I asked God for a high-school-sweetheart
Prayed that before I graduate, I want somebody that can play the partGod answered my prayer and there were you in my Twitter's DM inbox at the end of May
Pretty words are not enough to describe how exhilarating were my daysLove starts and ends
and ours sure did which I couldn't comprehendAfter almost five years, the questions remain the same
Why didn't you give me closure, why was I the one to blame?If I told you I really love you
and asked you to stay, would you?We were absolutely not "just friends" 'cause we acted like lovers
One thing for sure, you could always cry on my shouldersNo one's good enough to help me move on
Memories of you are still crystal clear but oh I wish they were goneI may sound bitter but if you're clever
You should know there are more to this, just remember
YOU ARE READING
Tulis or Write?
PoesíaOf love, hate, happiness and sadness. Sometimes, a broken heart is the best thing that could happen to a writer. A process of healing by writing amateur poems and short stories.