It’s all repetitive. How many nights will I stay awake to try and make up for all the lessons I slept through? Why does the past haunt me? I thought I learnt better.
I used to never let the next lover be the same as the last one, my scars used to be reminders, my words remained hidden.
Maybe Billy really did wear that gardenia on her head so she couldn’t smell herself rotting. I cover myself with sunnah musk, but I’ll never reach heaven.
There will come a day that I will wake and not wish for daylight to fade as quick as the spark between he and I and I will find comfort in contentment.
My love is so temporary.
Do you see what we’ve done? More than a fool have I made of myself and I look less like my mother everyday. He looks more like my father everyday. I hate it as much as he does.
I don’t speak much anymore.
My lips are stained with the colour blue from all the words I left unsaid.
I can’t expect you to understand what I’m speaking about. I just blabber. I can’t seem to fit things into a perspective that you could possibly understand, so allow me to mimic you and give up.
I catch myself trying almost every night.