I sit here to write down
my heart and i'm empty
of emotions and ink to spill.
an insomniac with a poetic
mind, when lay at night under
the thousand stars I can't quite
see — but maybe i'm not sure
what words it'll bleed.
maybe my heart is empty,
full of love no one cares to decipher and the ache no one minds to share.
you write in hope of filling
yourself of remorseful
words and apologies,
with those wishes you missed
to make until the shooting star disappears, the lover of your dreams and romanticise about things that do not happen,
and i'm writing to empty
myself about the emotions
i can't undo.
i'm writing about
my empty heart,
[ the heart
containing
infinite number
of emotions ]
and i'm romanticising
feeling nothing.
YOU ARE READING
all my stars
Poetryvery old pieces i wrote/ some make sense/ some don't/ some i hate/ and some i feel rather attached to/ either way/ they needed a place to rest. this is a collection of whatever it was or maybe continue to be. © starnished 2020
