albums of you in my gallery
i stare at your pictures all day
run my fingers over them
imagine stroking your hair
it's so dark and velvety
i stare into your onyx eyes
and battle them with an envious smile
run my fingers along the curve of your lips
dart my eyes and chuckle
embarrassing that this is
open your chats and read our past
i smile
mortifying that this still is
and then
i clutch my phone
rest my forearm across my eyes
sink into nostalgia
into suffering
my heart takes a snapshot of the past
because it's fading away, my dear
do you do this often?
reminiscence
feel the burn before you wanna get scalded?
do you sigh because you tasted forbidden fruit?
Do you want more, too?
and then
i select the album
and send it to the trash folder.
only to restore it the very next moment.
take your ghost away
so that someone new can find their place in my gallery
in my mind
swim in my thoughts
find their home in my heart
until it's time to shift
and get promoted
cause they can't accommodate with the same, forever
make me clutch my phone close to my chest
make me want to feel scalded again
we'll forever be changing.
congratulations on your achievement, you've been promoted.
~d.s. 10:22 PM
YOU ARE READING
Into The Black Hole
PoetrySometimes, pain becomes peace. Eureka! He's an oxymoron.It's been almost over eleven months; six months when it got way too critical, but I've been evolving and growing up out of it. It means much less to me now, and again, it keeps reminding me th...
