today is the kind of day where i sit and stare at my feet while my brains swims in mulberry wine and nocuous feelings that taste a little like him
he has flaxen hair and stygian eyes and he smells of cinnamon and sweet promises ( dance with me under the stars but wait there are stars in your eyes )
i think of his hands on her perfect, tiny waist and her perfect, silken hair and i wonder how in the fuck i ever had a chance with him
maybe i was just blind. maybe i thought that someday he would notice the cherries on my cheeks and the torment in my gaze
maybe one day i could stop longing for him to turn my skin into gallium ( i melt at his touch ) and my bones into gold. maybe he will start seeing in me what he sees in her
all these maybes.
maybe i can't take back what wasn't mine in the first place.
YOU ARE READING
the art of falling
Poetrypaint me as deep and as blue as the sea and maybe i will find the strength to drown myself
