My sadness is like that stinging memory of my wretched ex.
It comes and goes, with the tide.
Every two nights, I'm hit.
With the familiar scent of my beloved friends.
They come and go, punctually.
And keep a rambling tab on my reality.
You're maybe my period in disguise.
Be it, I dare you.
For atleast I would know you're a monthly thing.
I almost wait for you three to greet me every night.
When I'm smiling on my phone,
Speaking to my boyfriend.
Or I'm texting my girlfriend,
That it's been a good night for me.
I feel the cold drip trickle down my spine,
Because I fear the arrival of my beloved friends.
Oh how I wish that the accused romanticised poets who sell their sadness could make a buck out of their misery,
I'd somehow be a little better off.
I'm such a coward, I don't greet my friends.
They've been sitting by me for quite some time now.
Such a stupid child, you're, my love.
Don't ignore them, they control you.
No they don't.
Yes we do.
I know you do.
Pleasant Conversation after the breakup with my ex(es) now slowly becomes, a cemetery of memories.
And the corpses here are made of each happy flashback my conscience can think of.
The winds somehow drop and I'm spiralling down this maze,
But I'm so still I'm not moving.
Wait, stop this my head spins so bad, I'm almost going to have a meltdown.
No you can't,
You're smiling now.
You smile now.
We'll visit you soon.
We love you.
T A K E : C A R E
S H I M M A by @norblacknorwhite, coming this week. 📸 - @passionographer_ --
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