• maleficent_ 54w

    Your bare skin brushes mine
    and a trail of blazing fire ,
    races down my spine .
    We look at each other and the edges
    of the world turn soft , shadows blurring
    in grey patches .
    A song ends and you shove your hands
    in my hair , and bring me to you like
    you need it for survival .
    We devour each other , trying to
    blend in together , sucking the life source
    right out until I can't decide where
    you end and I start , our existences
    merge together like two starkly
    different colours on a pallet .

    I am a mixture of all the people
    who left me , I'm a product of insecurities .
    I've yet to learn how not to paint
    myself in the colours of every person
    I've ever loved . My apartment
    smells of coffee and books , and I am just
    another inanimate object waiting for the
    life to drip out of me through rough poetries .
    Rain thunders on my window and I
    pick up pieces of my scorched love
    and make bracelets out of them , in hopes
    to pull out a whole string from the tangles
    on my wrists .

    Lately I've been reading the gloomy tales
    of poets who held tragedies in their lives
    and had the privilege to end it themselves .
    Would I ever be one of them ?
    Maybe I am not a poet , maybe I'm a torn , stepped upon
    squeezed heart , pulled out of a still warm body
    trying to put into letters and words and phrases
    what it was like to be surrounded with your
    smell , what it was like to slip out of your knuckles
    when you held too tight , what it was like to paint
    stars on your back ?

    Someday , I'll learn how to keep myself tinged
    with a single shade . Someday .

    - Ruhii

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    I'm a product of insecurities .