here's to the cruelty of the sunrise to watch on, as you break my heart.
the thing with betrayal is that it comes from the softest, safest places — like dark brown eyes and a smile that reminds you of quiet, content mornings. like candle wax kisses — slowly dripping on the sun lines of your palms. like warm rooms and august rainfalls. like sunrises, gently creeping about. so here's to their cruelty to watch on, as you break my heart. now, the daylight's apology means nothing after it has cut my chest open to take a look at all this ache — something to remember you by.
maybe the only thing to remember you by.
and no, i never wanted to write poems about you breaking my heart, so instead, i'll ask: how many more daylights do i have to curse to still the aching in my chest? how many more daylights do i have to make a mess of, just so i'm not one? how many more daylights shall i waste hurting?
how many more pretty daylights are there to break? how many more days?
