A lovely story that starts with the lines that crawl on the palms of your hands, designing a heartthrob.
The fingernails clinging onto the slightest hint of hope, that maybe one day you will return.
Return all the forgotten memories that pile up on your porch.
Send them with love, maybe one day they will write you back.
Do you recall the time we settled with, under the sky that taunts me for being a fool?
For believing you will never forget me, even when you change.
A constant problem that whispers when I am at my weakest.
I will not ignore the problem that holds me with open arms because you couldn't do the same.
You couldn't do what others did, because you don't feel sympathy.
A pity party, you threw for yourself; Just to watch the hours eat you as the main dish.
One by one, grey colors will sync with the world and you will be under the ground I stand in front of.
Maybe, just maybe you didn't forget me.
YOU ARE READING
Out Of Order
PoetryPerturbed. Anxiety awaits those who can't distinguish between actions or emotions, therefore never implying what she thought was important. Animosity. Apart from her balancing on the tight rope, resentment tipped her over and down she goes. Deep int...
