the slow art of breathing bitter

And 'Tis On Periodt

How funny it is to look back at

those days, beneath the crawling creepers

and bright blue haze

And laugh at our sweet nothing dreams

of being together forever.

And here we are, dreaming of silver stars

not in the cerulean sky but in our graves.

I was tattooed on your skin,

and you were stitched in mine;

We weren't supposed to say broken good-byes

within crumbs of failed love.

For time wasn't in our favor, darling.

When you said "see you," it didn't mean "nothing."

It meant a forever farewell song in the middle of

hearts and lies, within fleeting waves and buttery sands.

People like us could never love, anyway.

We drowned in the high tides,

and let the scars bleed into our golden skin

and rise like crashing meteors from decayed space.

For it was our redemption when the time would

cycle back and never look forward.

Perhaps we never felt what being consumed by love means.

Perhaps we never knew what waiting for a lover to return

and not remembering someone else means.

But this time, the stitches of disaster plagued our souls.

For we were too young to play this game with time and life.

Good game, time. You lost.

-lives choking in the toxic tang of love.

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A/N: Have the little dreaming stars died too??

© March 18, 2023. Sreeja Naskar