You knocked on my door but I was still recovering from the aftershocks of the earthquake so I stayed hidden under my bed. Yes, I know I should have ran away at the first chance I got but I didn’t. I didn’t run because I wanted to die in my own home, surrounded by the things I love and cherish. Even if my house was on fire or if roaches invaded and it only contained all things rotten and broken, with window panes broken and shattered glass everywhere I still wouldn’t leave.
I find myself among broken things way too often. Sometimes I think they are not to be fixed, other times I want to replace them. But our time here is short and nothing makes sense anyway.
So, I make my way to the kitchen to mix whiskey with heart break and I’m greeted by nostalgia. Remember him, right here by the counter making you dinner, remember him by the counter making love. I try my best to ignore it, gulp some whiskey down.
And you throw a pebble at already broken window trying to get in
So give it your best shot, darling I don’t care anymore.
YOU ARE READING
The Blooms Of My Garden
Poetry'The Blooms Of My Garden' is divided into 6 parts. Every part deals with one theme and various emotions that are associated with it and how the poet deals with it. 1. Love 2. Lust 3. Heartbreak and Closure 4. Self-doubt and self-love, healing and b...
