Scribblings on Slumbercloud9

With palms salty with sweat, they walked hand-in-hand in a park full of people with mouths full of empty words. And then like the fate of two freshly stubbed cigarettes, afire and affright, they lay in bed, turned heads; she could never make peace with the stench of whiskey on his breath.

I am now a bundle a bundle of empty goodbyes and unused condoms I am remnants of lovers who didn't kiss me goodbye I am now the songs I didn't sing for the ones who pleaded me I am now the tears that hide under my pillows till the alarm clock screams I am the the calls I never returned and the flights I took to all the cities to save a love from drowning in alcohol I am the cheesecakes I baked to win back the love I lost to insecurity through the stomachs of his friends I am the lies I lied to the last page of my notebooks all because my heart couldn't decide which part of my body needed more blood. I am them all, I am all my mistakes, I am a bundle a bundle waiting to be undone and re-distributed to those who should've loved me better.

Art is both an escape and an attempt to capture that freedom and turn it into a tangible reality. 

All around me I see lost eyes staring into space, desperately waiting for something catch their attention. Mouths looking for ears to talk to. Lips forced to curve themselves into smiles whilst playing music that doesn't stir the soul to a crowd of strangers with no real purpose or talent of aesthetic appreciation. Lights, camera, action, music, marionettes- Show time.

I forget  birthdays and names  streets and lanes  powdered faces  pink laces  colors and shades  fancy hairdos and fish braids. I forget  texts messages exchanged  deranged  9:47pm and blue ticks  cum, boobs and dicks How are you? I'm well. What are you up to? Nothing much.  Where have you been? Here. 

We've grown up now. Is it okay to allow myself to feel pain now?  Because we have grown up. We can't hide behind our age, we aren't supposed to be teenage drama queens anymore. Love always hits us in the face, as hard as it did before. We think we have learned to fall and then balance but just as you love changes, pain does too. Pain doesn't fall out of your body through your tears, it hits the walls of your skin vehemently, struggles to find an outlet. Sometimes tear glands don't work. When you see a picture of the one you love in the arms of another, when you wake up in the middle of the night to check your god forsaken phone with the hope to see their name on your display, when you smell the rain that surprised you pleasantly in the hot summer only to remind you that it feels just like last year when you were in their arms, in the same balcony. Your skin tingles outside, your organs tangle inside. And here I am standing in my bathroom, looking at the moon, liste