The memory of us faded as quickly as it had came.
A superstitious fantasy with half-anaesthetised anxiety and lying words repeated over and over.
Endless rhythmic variations.
I didn't care how often it would lift the tempo just enough to make sure I was still able to wake up to the hallucinate.
Yet I knew I wouldn't be able to get your name out of my head. I knew that something was appallingly, irrevocably wrong.
I knew I wouldn't be able to look at you without seeing this thing of us, in a highly disturbed state. Yet still smiling.
Looking at all the nighty-nine ways it could go wrong, but focusing on the one way it could go right.
YOU ARE READING
A Weed Surrounded By Flowers
PoetryThrough poetry she felt the weight on her shoulders slowly fade as her thoughts and emotions went from her heart and swayed through the pen to the paper. Her life full of poems waiting to be written and read. She will no longer be silent, and this i...
