August is ending
yet surprisingly
this is not the end

The floral shirt once mine
will now be available
for someone else's to lend..

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To feel the grief of something
I've never been through
perhaps a heartbreak
in the foggy afternoon
with the clouds foreshadowing
for someone still believing
the magic of morning dew
how could it be such a wreck..
locking up self in a room
all the glistening scars...erasing

Erase Erase Erase..

-

The walls of hospital rooms hold
all the contrasting memories
some to be cherished forever
some ending up in miseries

-

I'm barely an echo of my haunting past
hearing my present begging to be alive
wondering if future will mourn over
the soul once so innocent and naive

-

I'm reduced to dust
when I say I don't deserve the best
it feels like the horizon
I'm in love with
and the craving to feel
the blurry line
in my soul
becomes a fantasy
far away from me
farther than
I could even frame

-

... in the old, crumpled pages of once so familiar diary, I found the bad handwriting I once had; tried reliving the essence of your presence in the euphoric moments spent with you..

And I again found myself pondering

if it's even possible to fall again so gracefully knowing someone will be there to catch you always..

that's when I felt pheonix of your ashes soothing my soul,

a comfortable warmth never unknown...

-

The mirror smiles at me
hard to say if it's mocking
yet feels like an alter ego
never ought to break in

and I keep feeling
the lingering past
drowing me in misery
wondering how long it'll last
perhaps a mere reverie

your thoughts haunt me
with painful comfort within
my heart was always yours
yours never mine
never has been

-

Memories fade away
Yet the burden of grief is carried on
aching more, lost and full of sorrow
wandering heart without roots

-

I'm a part of the abandance
long forgotten in past
a mere touch of dust
wondering if I'll ever last

-

All the lights used to shine
now are dim,
not anymore bright
hurting my eyes
fussing over white lies
white as snow
as if hard cold winter's blow
and I, too, am crying over things
that are long gone
resembling me
an escape forlorn

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