your love had imprisoned me and yet I knew how to slip through the bars

i knew you starved me, but you always found me again to lock me up again

because this malnourishment of love in me still made me crawl back to you, where you'd feed me from your hand like a dog, even when the dagger would be piercing through me

i knew that hate was never the opposite of love I could forget you when you hated me, I could live with that pain but the moment you forgot me, my heart shattered into thousand pieces

it was cruel, it lingered on my fingertips and on my lips, it wasn't fair

I knew that when you ignored me, you had loved me once and that you suddenly had the guts to take it away

When you left, you brewed me one last coffee. It wasn't sweet like usual, you left it black, you knew I hated it that way. But I still drank it, because maybe I don't like much, not me, not us, not the you wouldn't care about me. I pretend to hate you, but even with this last black coffee you made, I would still like you

was it really time to leave or did you just want my glass heart to shatter into all the different memories of us to be lying on the floor

Maybe it wasn't hurt, maybe you never hurt me, but it definitely felt like a snake's bite, injecting your poison into my soul. It felt like a thorny vine wrapping around my heart, digging deeper with every twist.

No it didn't hurt, all it was, was a broken record repeating the same painful refrain of a song that was once my favourite one. It was like the ink spreading on the parchment paper and ruining my love poem.

I tell myself it didn't hurt, but what if it did. And who's to blame after all?

You never knew how to comfort me and then blamed it on me. Your daggers that I polished and placed carefully before you, hoping you wouldn't use them. But this hope is what caused this betrayal, like a moth helplessly burning itself, looking for the light.

My words have never been coherent and I guess that made you annoyed. There wasn't much about me that didn't annoy you, but oh how sweet it was to tell myself some comforting lies.

No amount of similes or metaphors can disguise how much it hurt, it would always hurt, and no, it wouldn't get better. I simply liked to spiral in this bloodbath of my killed soul. And you knew that, you always knew, and maybe that was exactly why you did it.

It's always the weak that long for someone, not that I'm weak, I'm just simply not strong either.

They say to not fall in love with a poet, because you'll live forever. But how can I erase you when the pen in my hand, between my fingers doesn't stop writing, and the blood that you left me on my hands has dried up

I cannot make you disappear from my mind, because love exists in me and I am full of it, and all the cracks in my heart have healed, healed enough to not die from seeing your name.

Don't fall in love with me, I will write about you till my fingers cramp up from holding my pen and your heavy heart

and honey drips down my throat. sweet whispers a singing voice, you licked the wound but let the bees are eating my skin

i haven’t felt quite like myself this autumn, the leaves don’t fall and the grass stays green and i’m bathing jn the summer sun. Maybe I never left the summer from 3 years ago

i haven’t thought about you in awhile, I hope it doesn’t turn me into a cruel person

i haven’t been able to forget you, because what if love turns sour like the spoilt milk in my fridge and i taste it every now and then bc I can’t throw her out and i’m still hoping it’ll taste sweet again

The silence at night always felt scary. Was it the monsters under my bed or in my closet, with my teddybear to save me? Was it an owl outside, when the moon was full? Was it the shadow from piled up clothes? Or was I just a child, that had yet to discover the dull nature of society

The smell of slaughtered swines still lingers in my clothes. It’s the blood of all men to ever lay their hands upon me

did my childhood friends become princesses, or pirates, or astronauts? did my first boyfriend get to meet his forever soulmate? did the random stranger on my 17th birthday find a way back home again? Did they never find peace within them? or is my soul the only one left wandering

I haven’t built a castle in year, nor have i pretended to be a princess, or a singer. I can’t remember how to be a child anymore. Did i lose her somewhere between my childhood home and the playground at school?

Wax from the candles are dripping on my birthday cake. I’m halfway out the door from my childhood home. I hear my family chanting my name. I cannot, I will not, look back. I know if I do, the monsters will come to eat me

The lingering dread of aging has left blood all over the skin of my childhood. The child I once was ripped off the skin from my adult body with half her baby teeth missing. I now know, she has become a monster. Yet I will always cherish her