19 seul

        so, what would you do for your past?

      would you whisper something to it?

you write what you think you know. or at least, you write what you're supposed to trick yourself into knowing— you pull the trigger: you torment the words that roll off your sharp tongue, as you turn into your very own instigator. i'm compelled to watching.

   perhaps if you weren't so petrified of the past that we conciously made, you would've pulled the trigger by now, but you're still aiming your gun... a clever maneuver, a target and an endless deadline waiting for a sign, yet the enemy doesn't exist until you're reaching for one.

do you deserve this? do you deserve that?

i think things are so well-deserved when the guilt keeps on remembering us— unrequited. it engages itself in our future, as it tries to impact our present. it makes its way to the bare hands of those who dare to question the process.

   all this time i could've made them both seem beautiful to you and less inflicting to myself— paranoid ravings. maybe it was just me, always seeing the beauty of things and accidentally dissolving the ugly truths of our lives, as my words became a shoulder to cry your sorrow on, that shoulder you never thought you needed until you started reading a frantic truth.

   we'll never know the reasoning behind that well-drawn silhouette who broke some bits of my heart. it's her truth to confess, while it's mine to painfully craft.

  i tried so hard to engage myself in her understanding that i became so alluded to writing. writing, writing and writing. i think writing is such a foreign craving when your poet isn't around. my poet definitely wasn't around at that time. or at least, i didn't let us both in. i couldn't bring myself back to our situation— an unmade bed that still had the initial shape of our bodies curled in layers of silky sheets: we were next to each other, but continents of pages away.

   the ruputure made it all even sweeter— a soft torment, a disruption that never intended on fading away, sliding across my vision.