somber

i don’t hear your words anymore; they articulate, what seems to be a different language. a single noun becomes “she”, “her” a brief longing in your eyes. a simple verb becomes “i’m heading home”, in times where you heard the tears in my voice. when you pronounce your adjectives, you repeat. and to be repetitve is poetic and all, but. however. although. he sounds- you sound, toneless.

i can’t picture daylight, without your shadow blanketing the hills behind; I intuitively paint over my years of voidant canvases. I stuck pins on my dress, wishing it pleased- awakened some part of what you conceal. I found holes in my yard, thinking it was you who wanted to plant flowers. I orchestrated euphonies, to which I hope would draw your warmth closer. I drew before your eyes, for you to only maim. and reason, with matrimony as a promise, a prayer?

you’ve hit a wall;