There lie secrets
And sorrowing graces
They seem to rely on the apparent image of perfection; on the picture-perfect photogenic smile, that we are so obviously forced into
Do my questions remain unanswered if all I do is ask the nude-eyed, blunt and clear as the day Truth?
(that is, if the days are ever clear and there are no multiple facets to the pristine lazurite coming between me and you).
Don’t let me go, please
If all I do is try to mend the broken pieces of your heart
that is altogether my
And keep my own of getting broken
Even if that is a totally misleading endeavour, and I am to be stuck with a sunken cost…
I fall and catch the repetitive tone of cliché, hovering around the living room (where you stand and SHRINK down to the final round, when eventually you’re caught and slashed to bits by it) and I hate sensing you, drowning by the trivial traits that outline our pending conversation
and let me take you through this journey that will be led in the dark, and in silence, and in mutual comprehension.
Why did you have to go… Why do I have to stay…
Why don’t I understand you and your frustrating rhetorical monologues
And why do I know you so well I don’t need words to put the way things are.
I love you entirely,
And I cannot part from your living memory, and move on.
I don’t want to, either.
And you saved me without even knowing
Although… my redeeming cure, nowadays, only seems to pull me down and keep me trapped to old prejudices… that keep me blinded and cold.