• amsterdam 10w

    Flipping through the pages
    of several moons ago
    while sipping nostalgia
    that tastes like stale wine,
    my lips quiver as drizzles
    of a brewing storm starts to form
    at the corners of my winged eyes,
    has it been this long
    since the fragments of what-ifs
    and could have been
    were tucked away
    to an attic called yesterday?

    It still feels like
    yesterday's gloomy sunset
    when goodbyes were bid
    and each time dusk comes
    then night follows like a child's shadow,
    I find the stars looking at me with pity,
    eyes hooded and painted
    with eyeshadows and mascara
    in hues fifty shades darker.

    I buried a long time ago
    a fairy tale is written in the sand
    but the heart indeed
    has short term memory
    or perhaps temporary amnesia
    that until now it wanders
    and keeps on digging
    and robbing graves
    looking for its lost muse
    all throughout lonely nights
    and its harrowing sorrow
    veils the air
    with misty melancholia
    stinging eyes
    and stabbing
    deeper and deeper
    piercing, cutting
    fragile arteries and veins
    making its way through
    atria and ventricles of stone.


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