He is ripping out handfuls of himself
out from his own skin.
Icarus, the feathers you wore,
and spent nights crafting,
you now pull apart
in fistfuls.
The very freedom you worked so hard to
attain,
is the very thing
you
now
destroy.

You owe the world
nothing
but the
spite
its given
you.

I bathe in
lavender hues
rippling across oceans,
drowning sunsets
in their coolness.

There is aestheticism
in letting go,
but even more so
in holding on.

Sometimes
it is hard
to spread your roots
in shaky grounds.

You are not obligated
to stay,
for you still are just a seed,
that the wind
can take
away.

You are not
what has happened to you.
You are how you react
to it.

Some plants will drown
in rain
that nourishes others.

How could i tell you?
That the pink that stained your cheek was no longer my favourite colour,
that your laugh sounded out of tune,
that your skin lacked the heat i craved,

that my love dwindled and then fell away all at once.

i'm sorry and i'm not.

i love you, but i don't.

Crouching at your door
squalls taunt, the devil don't pray
do not be afraid

Listen to his voice
He knows the qualms of darkness
feet above water

knees lowly
silence the raging tempest
You are our daily bread