Library of half-formed tales,
I roam.
Shelves of verses,
I'm far from home.
Lines left hanging
My heart is unsure.
Incomplete narratives
Will be there a closure?
Poetry screams
In the walls of my throat
No one will hear it
I'll swallow the truth.
As I dedicate my lovely words
To a person who will never dedicate
A single thing to me.
Still wonder why it hurts
After I acted as if yours.
I burned my poems
And they fought back,
Leaving orange bruises
That turned black.
They ache at night
And you became a part of me.
This brazen heart has no pity,
I wrote love and they replied cruelty.
Nevertheless, thank you for the tragedy
This will be art.
Messes matters, chaos counts,
And I let you broke heart.
