The scent of me stains your pillowcases like an ellipses...
You don't like thinking about where we were going,
The light we were always heading towards,
The place we never made it to.
It was strange to have someone who needed me.
For once I found myself waking up and having a reason
for not remaining engulfed in my own distress;
In a depression so blue, that it swallowed itself,
in a church, burning from the altar.
All the main parts of me are the things that destroys it.
It, being me.
Me being the girl who I don't recognise anymore.
A faceless reminder of a hope to keep moving forward,
to stop myself from kicking the stool out from beneath me,
from turning the music up to its loudest and forgetting,
in the way sad people do,
just what it's like to breathe.
Drowning is similar to a glass of water now.
I wonder what that says about living...
Love, I have discovered, is a romanticized form of pain in
slow motion.
We were a melody sung in the form of a goodbye,
clinging like we wished for another hello.
I don't quite know what I am writing about anymore...
All I know is
I miss you.
For a brief moment
I loved you.
And for a smaller moment still,
I trusted you.
I am just like that ellipses... I keep holding on until the reader is
long gone.
Hoping that one day, you might just stumble upon these ink blots on
a page, ceaseless pleas for help written in the form of love letters:
And think :
She wrote that for me.
YOU ARE READING
Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.
Poetry"I hope it gives you the same satisfaction as finishing a really good book, Or kissing someone, and not walk away feeling like they have taken something from you."
