tortured poets club

do i miss the good old days

or the person i used to be?

do i miss you

or the version of myself that only seemed to exist beside you?

am i just missing you

or am i mourning the me i used to be?

i miss my best friend

and sometimes, just as much,

i miss the best friend i once knew in myself.

-f

also, if it were real, why would she try to bury/hide his body?

🥀

</3

have I made peace with it all,

or am I frozen in time?

has my heart forgotten you,

or am I merely avoiding the ache?

do I crave answers to every question,

or am I too afraid to know the truth?

infatuation is a free bird,

flying through bright skies,

hanging from a tree branch,

dying in a current.

love is a raw foe,

compelling surrender,

only to surrender itself.

leaving behind fears,

leaving behind broken, rusted strings,

never to be tied again,

never to be touched again.

oh july, what a sight for my sore eyes

a tragedy left unseen

a soul left unheard

oh july, what a muse in this scathing noise

a body left untouched

a bone left unhealed

oh july, my arson match

my eclipsed moon

my unfulfilled dream.

i won't dress up words in pretty dresses for you anymore.

i’ll stop romanticizing my feelings for you—my words, and you.

i’ll stop holding myself accountable for all those times we didn’t end up together.

i’ll start feeling indifferent toward you.

i’ve begun to notice you as just a stranger passing by.

*i've closed this chapter—never to be read again, never to be rewritten, only to gather dust.*

while you go on with your life--

as always.

❤️‍🩹

home?

it's lost in the woods—

never to be found,

never to be seen.

the glances,

and all those second chances—

like ink leaving fingerprints on our souls.

the interwoven emotions,

the tangled dreams—

refined by pain,

washed away by silent screams.

the unheard conversations,

the unspoken melodies—

swept away so finely

between pine trees and empty seats—

all lost, so suddenly.

the abruption of it all

caused hurt within.

no one saw, no one questioned.

it lingers in the air,

and gasps for more air in the sea.

water holds memory,

and memories hold pain.

all that pain reminds me of you—

and you remind me--

of me.

-note to us.

⛵🌄

i've begun to romanticize the possibilities of us—

the tender beginnings, the aching endings.

i've started to crave the what ifs of us—

maybes and surelies, all tangled together,

eager to be unwoven.

there’s always been a series of "quiet blooms and quiet falls"—

two souls tied to a spiral of endless setbacks,

the weaved tapestries, the painted murals of our fantasies,

erased by delicate drops of rain.

but fragments of us still remain,

preserved in the hush of sunset

and gush of air,

sheltered from every sucker punch.

his calloused hands trace my face,

in my head--

mapping the ruins he left behind

the tunes he played are lingering in the air,

pieces of melodies i once used to know

his somber eyes still sting me

in my bones--

a quiet ache that time won't soothe

a lesson i never learned to unlearn,

an excruciating pain i never want to unfeel

so, in every crowded place

i'll save him a spot--

beside me, empty yet not,

a presence carved from absence

i closed the door long ago

but still, i press my palm to the window

to catch a glimpse of us

now, he'll sing in notes

i can no longer own, only recognize--

a part of me now belonging to the unknown.