Depressed Poems or whatever it might be

1

The curls and twists once crossed my path.
But oh wasn't I prepared for the journey they forced me on.
Where time and time again you were there.
But was I oblivious to the cliff you'd make me fall from.

A buzz that never died, for the laughs and smiles lasted so far you couldn't see.
How were we supposed to know that this endless void of bliss is so finite to collapse on itself.

But that's a sample of our adventure. Where my destination is yet unclear. And where my journey matters as much as a story without beginning.

This sparkling fraction of memory is shared between us in two parts, both with different views. A place I rarely visit but am reminded of in rutheless ways to be left to ponder on what could have lasted.

This brotherhood is a perculiar vision to depict upon a relationship that could form. One where you know as much about the other as you know about yourself, for my favourite number is as much of a mystery to me as it is to them.

The trust that has formed is the product of a strange way of sharing thoughts through communication where all information exchanged is lost to everyone merely listening. But remembered by the two. Bound by blood of a covenant. Creating an exchange forgotten only on the most inconvenient of times and remembered to malnourish myself of tears I never thought I'd have to shed.

This isn't to say this brotherhood was a mistake. It is something unlike ever seen before. Where no matter the time passed I will still share as much as when I was living in a world of make believe depicting my brains imagery onto a personality formed and fabricated on expectations of one's self.

I'm left with a blame no one has to bear. But a blame creating a humble sense of comfort out of ancient anxietys is not something I wish to abandon.

After all this time I'm stuck yet again on the same gravel, left to succumb to an imagination, where brittle glass forms the walls caging a fragile Path once treaded by two people. Now overgrown, the twists and curls are still as visible as they've ever been. For this growth isn't created by memories fabricated to slowly cover a happening that's left in time. This growth originates from events that burn itself in ones mind and are throbbing to be replaced. But nothing can overcome the sting of a character so powerful that it has left an unbeatable impression of a friendship. Where the only escape from this longing desire of blood is to be put down under.

Your curls have burned itself a place in my soul so unreachable. Leaving me to suffer in happy memories.