I tried many times
to write about you,
to tell the world
why I loved you once
even when it makes no sense now.
when the days in the sun
seem like a dream, seem like a ruse,
seem like a bait
to everything that just gets worse.
when all that we once were glad to believe in
and that we were
has caused us to write this end.
where I have my own sky
but end up looking at the fields below
the harvest, the drought, the spring, the festivals
that you live.
where your day always ends with looking for that bird
who foolishly broke her wings for you,
among the birds who only dream of flying.
I drowned the flowers
one by one.
The poison of beauty
now runs through the rivers
on this land,
they fill his backyard
in every season of rain.
A child with his smile
drowns another boat of dreams,
the flood is a field of paper,
the flood is all that is left of me.
She stares into me,
waiting for a reflection to surface.
She walks into me
to see where I end.
She tells me about the boy
she can’t love and the boy
she can’t blame
as I dissolve and submerge
the red gates of her house,
the garden of forgiveness,
her school shoes, all roads to her friend
who doesn’t smile back anymore,
the spoons that remind her of hunger
for farthest worlds and people.
She asks me how deep will be this pain
of losing herself, how long she would have to smile
through this hate.
I flow into her heart,
wondering, if there
I could turn back to the flower I was,
if the end of my hate could be
the end of her pain.
If I could be her answer of hope.
runs through the fields of flower
covering each bud of happiness with blood.
I stab myself again and again,
till I bleed,
till the world can finally see where it hurts.
You stand in the middle of every green field.
You stand in front of every road, every direction
that promises me something better,
where the thoughts in my mind can finally settle.
But because you are here at the beginning of everything
I cannot find in myself the will
to begin anything new
and to leave you behind.