i’m trying to remember the first time the moon touched my heart.
i think i was fourteen sitting on the balcony in my recurring dreams of dying next to my lover.
but it’s all a lie to cover up my horror; i haven’t felt loved yet.
i’m running up north but the horses slowly faint in their stables; i didn’t get anywhere, my feet are glued to the grass.
shards of glass fell from the sky and you whispered in my ear, “the storm is near…”
i pretend i’m kissing him on his self-inflicted scars painfully hearing him cry out for his last breath. sometimes i close my eyes and imagine i’m smiling at the altar; don’t get too in your head,
you haven’t felt loved yet.
i watched the sunset from an old gas station convenience store.
the flickering exit sign was isolated towards my eyes and i followed the path to an open door.
i was led through the thinly veiled atmosphere until everything near me vanished, but i heard a shallow voice a few feet away:
“in a few years time, maybe even sooner, you’ll recognize that sacred feeling. and when you do, you’ll realize it wasn’t all that special.”
i tried to open my mouth but i was paralyzed by an unspoken fear bombarding my body.
the black floor started sinking, making crater-like dents where his flesh and blood began to appear. “why didn’t you love me?” he wept but i couldn’t bear to stare at him.
he no longer kept scars except for a bullet where his heart used to be.
i wish i could’ve fucking felt love.
maybe i would’ve melted into his broken sanity and taped up all the pain.
maybe i don’t know how to take blame for all the fabricated picture frames depicting a smiling bride. but i bled on my only dress and twilight blue tears stained my hands and chest until i purged it out and nothing was left.
