carnivals

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.

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not (mine) yours

at 5 y/o,
i learnt that
no one belongs to anyone.
i tried to hug you in your
blue shirt;
i said i would call you mine
forever. but, you
still left
that little town we called
home.
when you left, you
looked back twice (no
more no less).

not hurting in
3,
2,
1.

penny for my thoughts?

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?

(un)consciousness

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