— a poem of potpourris.

Help Me End You.

Please.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

The thought of you slurring the softest ‘hello’
with the crescent moon, curved
and carved by your lips
with eyes that shred the ego of men
the figuring hourglass they all love to stare at.

The thought of you lying on my bedside,
one hand on the side, tracing your figurines
seems never-ending,
I’m as fragile as you are exposed.

I’m absolutely, pathetically,
helplessly sick in the mind
for I could not get you out of it.