the slow art of breathing bitter

Dare Not

Dare not to cry because he's left you.

Dare not to spill blood across your rosy cheeks

or arms or bare feet.

You're turning hazy blue—a blue dream

trapped in a glittered glass jar.

It's night; your letters are unanswered.

You feel like the wine's burning

your throat into something you don't know.

Much how he burnt your heart into 

fragments—you're hurting.

  It's not always butterflies and rainbows,

nor storms and lightning.

It's just that we have a few scars from

the battles we have lost and won.

But these haunted echoes

from your ringing past never stops

burning your already-broken heart.

It's aching hard; your heart's loud and fast—

He had a chance, and he missed

catching the butterfly.

Dare not to mask the blood-soaked ache

and igniting scratches

upon your raw skin. 

Let the few splattered bursts of white art

mark us on this oily canvas.

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A/N: Life's faster than before. Kindly vote before moving on...