I'm sorry
that I'm getting older
with lesser time to sit and wonder about your well being
as you're scattered among the stars
your face is becoming a blurry memory
I can't re-trace or rewind
your eyes don't lit up my honeydew dreams bleeding with guilt
with scars all over the hands you would held by high
I'm sorry my voice streched into oblivion
I screamed
I swear, uncle, I swear
I did scream
the loudest I've done in my nineteen years of pining
but somehow it never got out of my throat
It doesn't have to be december
for my veins to rebel
It doesn't have to be your wife's disgust
for my gaze to lower
and tears to swell right in the temple of my ribcage
it never had to be a date for my devotion to shred in tiny crickets
dismantle and eradicate my faith
that my childishness was the final knot

this and desperation wasn't intended to be put anywhere because they are unpolished and unedited but today, I just felt like publishing them.