mirrored mirages of your phases from yesteryear
almost looked like my own reflection–
my dusty pinks washed away dreams of cotton candy and
you. you handed me dying flowers, and
i pretended it was the thought that counted (even though
the only thing you were counting were the days
we had left).
glitter on sidewalks still makes me nauseous.
There is nothing
after death but the
romance of the Void
and eternal sleep.
ESCAPE Issue II
student-run literary magazine
published in Dominican International School
ESCAPE// Issue II
at 5 y/o,
i learnt that
no one belongs to anyone.
i tried to hug you in your
i said i would call you mine
forever. but, you
that little town we called
when you left, you
looked back twice (no
more no less).
not hurting in
It’s okay to hate yourself. I’ve come to realize this after a while of living– it helps you deal when others begin to do the same.
I write pretty words to make people think that I have pretty thoughts.
I just want to get through the day.
Do dark eyes shine in bright lights?
i saw how
flowers fell into the facade of the forgotten
faces you once
called your own.
smile at the mess you’re in.
June 29, 2017
biting back at your broken pieces were the
beings that sought to survive off of the sins that sustained your sanity so long ago;
words can speak of eternity but no word will ever embody the
time it claims in its sleep