despite my distaste for melodrama...a free write from a free-spirit in low spirits.
four, it’s been four months- a sixth of our life’s span
i’m still tearing, and i’m tearing.
i’ve crushed, and i’ve been crushed, and i’ve felt it in the pit of me.
but i’m tearing, and i’m still tearing.
I try, i paint myself a smile with the landscape of ideal
pressing my lids shut i focus to absorb it and make it true
but there’s that anvil always sinking into the core of my stomach,
it crushes every cocoon that may have one day flown in me.
when the lights are off and there’s nothing left to pretend for the day
we tip-toe softly into my reflection
we trigger my ducts, and there goes my day’s retention
it’s a haunting thing, this thing, it’s haunting me.
this is all new to me.
it’s something i never knew in me.
i can stare blankly at beauty, and she could stare back with desire.
and i can pretend, if i aspire i may even feel it, for just a moment.
but then it all dies away…it dies in me, now it’s dead.
the remembrance of you is a serial killer.
