It's not always hugging each other
that makes you feel it each time you think about it.
It's not always cuddling in the bed, warmth
To get those odd memories relieved.
It's not always the same thing (we know) to do
To keep ourselves distracted from these bruises.
Someday, we must learn to lie on the ground
And close our eyes to see it get over
Until the dusk colours engulf it.
Melancholy sometimes die in beautiful nightmares.
The birdsong always don't make you feel okay.
Your fingers brush the coffee cup.
Your bare arms smile at the cold pain—
Slowly moving down from your eyes, warm;
To your face, brushing it gently, wet;
Down to your throat, burning it—a little cough.
The shiny flickering sunrays kiss your cheeks,
Tickle your fingers
As the wind welcome the leaves to swirl—
You have been cleaning this glass all these years
Until you found your eyes dark, your face gloomy,
your bruises bubbling with blood.
Sometimes the diamond words don't work,
At times the hot coffee wrapping you tongue
Makes you cry, and cry, and cry
Until your mascara faints and you heart crashes
With those deep bruises
You have been ignoring along the way.