No one talks about the truth. The depths of the earth. The shit under your shoes. You read books about love, about lies, about lust. You watch movies that make you cry, make you laugh, end in blood.
But how about when it’s sticky? Humid in the air. That night your heart got broken, and it bled everywhere.
The next morning you woke up, and everything had changed. And when you called for someone to come, no one ever came. And it stayed like this for months. You almost wanted to die. And now you understand all the moments, you ever saw your mother cry.
I happened upon this place, and it’s not always so pleasing. I think it may have been made to be… but we’ve made it lose all its meaning.
Poetry Blogs 