Handshakes became an
another excuse
to stay away.

-

August parts away.
A poem.
Waits outside, withering.

-

Mine shall whisper.

Broken chimes inside the rooms;

guest resides, windows unwelcomed.

-

Your love grows while
mine stays;
I differentiate synonyms.

-

August;
a melancholy
sat under your
presence looks
beautiful.

-

Friendship bands tied all over.
The bond stays forever, ever.

-

Carrying grief through every night.
My inheritance is more like a mother.
In shadows that portrayed mine every light.
Grief isn't a name that I trade over another.

-

Every person I love.
Sticks onto like that bubble on a soap.
They give me a memory that fits like a glove.
I now know why every love stories always ends with hope.

-

I remember this colour to be that colour of my grief when I wet my papers instead of my handkerchiefs.
This colour looks like sixty percent of human bodies that roams commemorating each other's grief like apologies whispered over handwriting.
My favourite colour isn't what that mourns. My favourite colour is what that walks holding memories that came printed.

-

Even if it's
for a minute, strangers do
tell me all
our
existence is beautiful.
So, I fit everything in a poem;
that it reaches someone's home.
In my existence
a memory lies between the walls that
colors words melanin.

-