When I write, ink against crisp wounds,
I can't hate myself more,
the feelings buried so deep down,
the unsaid words killing you each day, I believe,
is nagging me each second, I think,
I hate that I let you, let us.
The brief texts, of falsity, contempt, laugh,
reminiscence of such, questions my sanity,
our stars were never meant for each other, dear,
you deserve more than a sorry, more than a plea,
you deserve not the world at your feet,
but a girl, good as the day, hot as the temperate night,
someone who'd give you respect, security, happiness,
someone who'd love you impeccably.
The fault is partial,
yours for signing me away even before anything started,
damn you for that,
mine for kicking you out even before anything bloomed,
no damn me for that.
Our distance was meant to be,
our choices were unwise,
mine for you,
yours for her,
hers for you,
I had to part with you, with her, with them all,
for the gall,
wasn't simple as sugar, wasn't fatal as death,
but mine to conceal, mine to keep,
and it shall be that way,
till death be unto me, my unrest soul.
Looking back now,
my regrets go down to ashes,
yes, vile and pathetic,
my regrets are not for our distance,
perhaps for my first move,
for the first curiosity-ridden 'hi',
but not for the unspoken goodbye,
for the single tap of a 'block'.
Ruthless by heart, bored by speech,
I was driven to avoid you,
you were nothing but a specimen too pallid for observation.
like I was to you,
nothing but a killjoy too nerdy for a decent intimate talk,
that was you,
that was me,
that was us.
Together we were a ruin, a pillage,
but as two souls apart,
you'll build better, I'll write better,
our futures will shine, brighter than our stars, dear,
So we shall part,
not just by texts, talks, mails, wishes,
But...by heart, soul, memory,
because you could never give me what I need,
I could never give you what you need,
together we would be an ugly mess, havoc, broken.
You'll be hers, for the choice you have already made,
you need not tell, explain, for she did that part,
it was easy, to let go of all you and your haunt,
but not of me and my obscure insecurity,
Because.......
I was never meant for you, or for anyone.
YOU ARE READING
Emotional cripple
Poetry"Is that paint on your lips?" they ask. • • • • • "Yes, the paint of my tainted soul," she say. -A collection of free style poems-
