Tried growing a flower in December, but in September I saw it
wither away. In June I saw it shrivel, and desperately waited for April.
This flower that I inhaled, burned my insides out, are now
ashes on the cement floor. I gave you my hundred percent.
You gave me your everything. Found solace in your embrace,
warmth from your kisses, comfort from your words.
Yet my chest feels like it’s caving in, my eyes has been
shrouded in darkness. Arms are now like prison bars, keeping
me hostage. Kisses now feel like poison, and the same
words feel unbearably harsh, trying to find the taunts,
amidst the letters. Letters that hand our end to us.
Tear it apart, step on it.
This shelter we built on the foundation of trust
(lies hidden in the walls)
now perished in a rapid fire. Destroyed possessions, not even
ashes remain. You gave me your heart, I gave you
all of my love. The same love I never reserved for myself.
And every part of me I gave to you wholly, took more
away from myself. Pretty goodbyes are an illusion.
We held the same flower and then burned it without empathy.
So maybe after everything we’ve been through,
this weak foundation,
beginning was cemented in the notion of fake love.