For

He would rather,

Nestle in her tranquil smile,

Let her soft fingertips,

Trace his jawline,

Than sit with me,

On the thorny ground,

And pick up

My broken pieces,

Buring his nails

In the coarse dirt

And the soot

From my bleeding soul;

I blame him,

Not.

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Break Free…

I, a soaring kite,

Against the winds,

Among the clouds.

 

Navigated around,

By a thread,

That holds me to the ground.

 

I, getting warped

As the wind blows around me,

Wish to dance along,

 

To let the storms blow,

Through me,

And lead me to lands, unknown,

 

But they pull on my string,

Put me back in place,

Fly me to propriety.

 

I plot to break free,

But my fears fight,

And leave me clinging to the knots;

 

What if

My paper wings,

Cannot flap by themselves,

 

What if,

My twig skeleton,

Snaps before the hawking flocks.

 

Inertia

I strangled her by the neck.
She struggled
And shrieked.
But I kept squashing her
Breath away.
I locked it in a chest of diffidence
And threw her away
In to the depths of my conscience.

I heard her muffled breaths.
I heard her fists on the lid.
But I did nothing.
I could have grasped her hand.
I could have pulled her up.
But I did nothing.

I let her sapling wings
To dry out on a desert,
When with a drop of water
Her boughs
Could’ve reached the skies.

Now she lies dying
In the deathbed of my life,
Begging me
For a single breath;
A breath of hope or try.
A breath of miracle.

image

I look down to her,
Her body ashened,
Her eyes grey,
And I struggle.

I struggle to lay before her,
That there were no more
Miracles to come.
That I’ve gambled them all
For none.

That the more she struggles
To survive a day
The more agonised
Our each breath would be,
And the more of me
She’d take away.

She defined me once.
But I’ve crippled her now,
She’ll sink, defunct,
In to a dark corner
Of my deformed heart.

All she’ll ever be
Is a dream
That I wrecked
With my inertia.