They asked me yesterday, why I am so afraid of being loved? And I swear, I almost sang them lullabies of us.
Tales of thick and thin. Tales of unshead insecurities and quivering touch. Tales that weaved me in your poems like the muse I was, freezing my lungs, with your smoky love.
I could have told them how terrifying loving you felt. How all those stars tuned into black holes, swallowing me breathless.
I should've told them how I had cried myself to sleep every night, for almost a year, wearing your fading scent into bed, hoping, you'll return.
I was waiting on you just like women before I must've. You used to live with this ginger who only loved you a little more than her passion to sing. The day you told her you don't love her anymore, her songs started crying of a good love that died unsung. Before her, you were chasing a painter. And do you know, her colors still bleed your black and white love.
When you first laid eyes on me. By the look on your face, I mistook as love, everyone knew I was your new muse.
You kissed me harder as days passed. Waiting for your ink to dry, I merely laid there, counting half-smoked cigarettes and swallowing painkillers, patiently waiting for the pain to arrive.
You started writing less of my untouched body and more of the trees across the street. I started seeing less of you on my bed and more of you in a photo frame. I started to break, seeing you fall out of love, for you no longer bought your pen on my tattooed neck.
Remembering your last night in my sheets still kills me, You said you wanted to talk as you laid next to me, your breath fanning my neck, your heart against mine as your fingers made patterns on my back. I panicked and the rush of my blood pushed my lips against yours wondering if this was the last kiss?
I bet your poem bled that night, because, I did.
I knew you found your new muse and that my familiar smell no longer Inspired you.
I heard you say her name in your sleep that night so many times, my skin crawled inside my hollow bones.
I wanted you to hurt as well.
I wanted to break your heart and spill your ink but that wouldn't have subsided the pain because I still loved your face. So, I kept on wishing, each and every time you say her name, it echoes back mine. Every time you try to scribble it down, it spells mine.
||Vote and comment||