My heart summersaults into the depths of your eyes

and drowns into the pure agony

of never touching the tips of your fingers.

While the roses wither like a crumbled piece of paper

and the candle keeps flickering

like a hunter in the forest looking for its next prey.

My metaphors turned drinking coffee with you in the middle of the night

into some beast

that carries my limp limbs through the trembling ground

and I turned your smile into a string of words

that could never catch its beauty.

But my pens fell silent

when I tried to describe the way you left.

Leaving the door open just a tiniest bit

and the windows all bolted.

The paper remained empty

and I think that’s what spoke the loudest.



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