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C H R Y S A L I S M
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chry·sa·lism (n.) : the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.
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i was music
but now i'm out of tune
my heart used to beat
in monotone
misery taught me
not to trust easily
but when all words fail
music saves
my agony
it serves as my music
my heart
as the music sheet
i can't think of any better way
to resist this resonance
i can feel the brand new percussion
it's beating inside my chest
however, it's still fragmented
i've had a hard time
i don't want to start again
a cycle that never ends
maybe this ache
it still keeps me scared
but just for you
i'll drag a pen and write again
perhaps, you're the second love
i yearn, but i'm afraid
just like those fragile things
i know i'll turn into a glass splinter
this new song i'm singing
for the first time in a long time
i constructed ethereal lyrics
it sounds so appealing
i believe we are artists
we hold our own instruments
i am transfixed with this new song
that sad melody only you can make
so i romanticize
i scream in crimson red
who cares on our hearts
we are just two misfits
the universe does not know
we can be anyone, anything
like the strings on your guitar
we will harmonize
can't help myself
it's such an enchanting possibility
i'm willing to lose a forever
for our chance encounters
i can't decipher
the faint thudding of your heart
it beats so slow
like a broken song
down below
we share the same misery
it never ever shows
like a sunken treasure chest
though what we have is fleeting
i would still ask
can we open our hearts
to this bitter sweet romance?
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YOU ARE READING
Fragmented
Poetry"Maybe it isn't that we're supposed to find the pieces and put them back together. Maybe we're the pieces."
