Most of her days bloomed with flowers on her head,
Butterflies fluttering around caused by her stomach
While unheard songs written by her graceful mind and heart play at the back of her head
She radiated her aura around like the sun
Disappearing at constant times in spring but as soon as winter steps in, you would realise
That she was the warmth that left you
In the cold because she loved you with everything she had
And you
Depended all of the love
you think you deserved from her
But some of her days are pain-filled storms clashing with whirlwind of tantrums inside her brain
That frustrated her none-the-less
For her to dabble on a fair amount of poetry
Or paint a picture full of imageries
Or maybe try and be an architect of her own emotions
She constructed her own home
from broken promises that you gave her
From the empty space that you put her name into
From nothing but shatters of glasses that you got her when you promised to mend her into stitches but instead you built her up strong yet fragile then decided to drop her
From nothing but a hopeless text message of you saying "wait for me to come home" not knowing that home was a set of arms and a loving heartbeat
And not inside a fantasy of a hopeless romantic girl
She built her own home
From a trance of dreams
With nothing but
A longing love from you
With nothing but the thought of you
With nothing but the reason "i did it for him, for us"
Glossy brown eyes rake across a certain room where she loved all of you with all of hers
Pink lips tremble trying to give the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes a hault
"How could I let this, how could I let myself be a mess", she let the words spill out of her mouth
"how could I have not seen this coming" she sobbed
Loud enough for the ghost of memories to linger on the back of her head
Loud enough to let her glass mosaics shatter from up high where her guard was
And I guess the cycle goes on
The pain continues
That's what an artist has to go through
They'll keep on writing about you
Painting pictures from certain scenarios of you
They'll keep on letting your ghost linger in to their soul
They'll still let you stay
Even if its only in art form
Because people
like you
aren't theirs
To keep
Anymore.
YOU ARE READING
coffee. cigarettes. daydreams.
Poetryi sat on my balcony chair and did my usual - drinking my cup of coffee and inhaling my cig, trying to sober up from the thought of you.
