a tangled mess is
what most would call it,
wrapped in a series
of unblossoming madness.

i was blinded by the fact
that i'm letting these roots grow
that i've forgotten to **** out
the thorns of all my sorrow.

her fingers tap on the wooden table
her, with thunder across her face
emotions caught in dire
eyebrows etched together

impatience. every glum beat of her heart
translate into her fingertips.
i feel sorry. tightness wraps around
my neck. eyes search for answers.
there were none in plain sight.

tap. tap. tap.

then silence.

then she left without a word.

my bones are tired
all energy stripped away.
my love, you're my rest.

what if my fate lies
on a silver surface?
my plans and doubts
all thrown into a furnace.
be still and figure out
what your heart yearns for

flip the silver coin,
then flip it once more.

you seem like a complete stranger
when i find you at your most vulnerable
it's like i'm looking through eyes
dark, vast, unending,
that everything that's far behind your eyelids
seems so distant

when you're at your worst
and i'm struggling to find
the sense of familiarity;
my footsteps become cautious
every movement becomes uneasy
i would hold you with shaking hands

but i wouldn't mind
i would be here
and keep you close
and tell you to breathe
and offer myself to be your anchor
feel my heart against yours,

for even the stars themselves collapse sometimes.

i will always know you
as the boy from across my seat
with hands like fire
a touch so electrifying
rekindling every spark
that as died within me

it has always been you
with a smile so beaming
one that could chase away
clouds of misery
with broadest shoulders
on which my agony is carried

yet out of all the things
i always knew you for
it is your constant presence
that never seemed to remain
though your sunshine
would break away the rain,
it was always fleeting.
it was always in vain.

this feeling of subtle doubt
has resided with me now
has it always been you
or have i always been me
who wanted to keep to myself
the flames within your palms.

here, we do not talk about the mistakes.
we do not bring them to the light,
we let them sit inside our dark places,
let them fester and rot; eventually,
we let them **** us.
it’s only a matter of time, you see.
but we never speak of them.