𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌

When spring began, you made a promise with your pinky finger, it curled around mine as we said our oath but it was all so childish that we broke those promises and laid it next to us, as if they were our proofs of our child like love. Back then broken feelings and promises were normal, but now, ten years past all that brokeness, why is this feeling still there?

The kind of feeling that persists
when you want to break
through a crowd of people but
you get suffocated by a pair of
hands that you can't see. The
kind that will leave you
breaking and scratching your
arms until your nails are worn
out and begin to pop out of your
skin, while you clutch your own
mouth in the hope that the
remains of today's lies said for
the sake of staying together and
hopes, won't be puked out like
unwanted trash into the
garbage.

I miss us. I miss those chidish
promises for all I see now is
nothing but a hundred voices
stashed up in the corner, my
own voices that I refused to
speak before you because of the
fear of judgement as your
beautiful blue eyes begin to
pierce through mine with sharp
knives against my dilated pupils,
and my irises that are as vast as
the ocean but meaningless like 
dust. I feel my voices finally
breaking out in the cold of
winter while your fake embrace
attempts to make me warm but
gets colder and colder instead.

Let's not break ourselves, let's
not become mere detritus in this
universe, but stardust spread
through out galaxy because
that's what I believed when you
told me a promise, a promise
that still echoes inside my head
like a CD on repeat, again and
again, until the chords in my
head breaks and all I can see and
hear is not your words, but
someone else's words of lies
from your mouth.

Promises, promises and
promises spread across my floor
like old clothes worn out and
dirtied with sweat and mud in
the wetness of rain, behind a
pile of dark clouds and rainy 
tears.