My brother looked at me
Like we were stars painted in mahogany,
But we are lesser stars
Than the ones that reign the skies.
My lover came to me
Like death wrapped in a casket
Near misses and a demise,
I'm told, but only if you ask it.
My lover came to me as I was dying
My lover came to me with rot and plagues,
Of illnesses and unbecomings.
"Everything is promised,
You are to bask in it."
I ask why can't you let me be
The lover asks what's stopping me from being.
Because you are not mine
"Even though I came for you?"
My lover comes to me in (my) defeat
I say, you do not want what's best for me
"I came to make you happy."
Leave, because we cannot be two wretched souls in this world,
I unallow it.
"You will only suffer as long
As you allow yourself to."
But my sentence is forever
Forever and long overdue.
|||
Dedicating it to VocaloidThalia
Tahia_colour and one friend of mine, who encouraged me to publish something.
This is a story chained into the confines of a poem and as you can see, it managed to break free in some cases. I've fallen into "that pit" where you're uninspired enough to start writing about love (love did and didn't do anything wrong, and this one isn't about love anyway, the lover is just a metaphor, exchangeable with anything else).
I read Philia Rose. Spoiled myself somehow. Lost my mind. Wrote a fan fiction of sorts and it didn't turn out to be a fanfic in the end. Just heavy inspo on love and death themes (literal).
The next chapters are quite short. And may be inflicted with a disease called "this is my book, I can sabotage the genre if I want to!"
