busty bones, I looked for you in the aisles of a supermarket that could never fit me quite right. when little things are all you live for, it's truly a shame when they're snatched up from under your feet.
and it's all so dull. empty never felt this guilty. breathing is subconscious but I feel the toll nesting deep within my battered soul, it's almost as if I've lived eons. crumbling, weatherbones; old enough to remember paradise, old enough to never be able to return.
present isn't bad, though. probably better than my feeble mind could have ever imagined. I buried the misfittingness, emerging sometimes is the reminder that I was judged to be misfitting for you... the supermarket pains me more.
joking too casually now, meaning too literally now, got a death-wish-oh-not-really-though but I'd love to go back to my real home.
busted bones, crack some more. whatever are you staying together for? the opportunities desired are seven light-years away, and you know that your heart can only stretch six. reach some more in different directions, attainable but picket fenced with ribbons.
where did our love go? the love that inspired me to write sonnets, the promises that urged me to play the most beautiful of songs, the love that made me believe in being alive for the first time in my short eon life. half left with you, and now I'm cradling a broken fifty percent that is so frozen so that it cannot feel the pain of being apart.
the little things still get me out of bed, but the littlest of things used to be the desire to be with you for just another day. now it's turned into such an unbearably difficult task that it breaks my tears into shards.
weatherbones, rain on me into the sea.
loose leaf stone, bust the cracks and let it be.
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Don't Try [Poetry]Poetry
a testament to the troubling winds. my poetry doesn't follow any rules. ✨minimal to no cursing✨depression✨hopeless romantic babble✨ proceed with caution. 2018-2019