I'm trying so hard but nothing seems to work anymore for both of our wounds that bleed old terrifying tales of sleepless nights, the mediocre smell of sea in our kitchen and pieces of shattered glass that scratch my veins open.
For love, for death and for the fear of losing what we had, we ruined our kindness in the most unloving way. Each night, before laying your head in my arms you whispered rusty tales of gentle kisses and hard punches on our bathroom wall. Now, I feel you on my torn sheet that sings me your lost songs.
White snowy lips, weaving pale lies that made me swallow bones that weren't all that shallow. You went back to your old house by the train-track like I was the easiest thing you could have ever said goodbye to. I died each day thinking how and what wasn't enough in our tiny love story we weaved. Long forgetting it was just me writing a sad tale that had to end. Half heatedly, I choke on the sour whiskey and your anguishing screams that haunts my body each night in unprivileged cotton sheets.
YOU ARE READING
PROFOUND SINS
Poetry"Your kisses taste like 'I love yous' But Your 'I love yous' are all lies; " "For love, for death and for the fear of losing what we had, we ruined our kindness in the most unloving way. Each night, before laying your head in my arms you whispered...
