You were flawed and just beautiful.
I romanticized that thought for a while
as I wallowed on my insecurities,
there you were with so much pain and anger
to the world, I heard people say.
I could not quite comprehend how
that bright lit face could have something
grim and morbid behind it.
But I was drawn, inexplicably so.
You were gravitating towards me.
I carelessly chose my poison,
and surely you tasted like wine.
There were creeping thoughts,
much like mild screeches
upon my wooden floorboard.
But I slept well through the night,
thinking there’d be you
to look forward to in the morning.
Days turned to nights almost as quickly
as things have brought upon irreversible change.
One morning I woke up disoriented,
and a few mornings after that
with thoughts of you, your breath
and your warmth still upon my fingertips.
I can feel it but almost in a way
that seem distant and overpowering.
I could have drowned, I could still be drunk
and impulsive, but I chose to bail,
turn my back and walk barefoot towards
a maze of hidden chapters that
almost appeared like a book till
I walked and burned through its pages.
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