poetry fill, T, death imagery, ambiguous relationsips

something stupid
(28 lines)


When he laughs
it is with a finger gun pointed to
his cheek
and
my heart wavering, always just
so weak, because
where’s the fun in love if
none of us bleed, and
what’s the point of running
if I’m the only one who
trips?


So
if I’m to go down,
shedding fears, bone, and crown
I’m doing it with you
and if you find yourself following
eyes laughing
fingers crooking in search for something to be
our new ground
don’t cry for me, cry for
your own damned self
because
I kiss your knuckles to be your trouble
but your grief will never sing for me.


(We weren’t always a thing
but we also weren’t regrets
and that’s something stupid enough
to protect, I think.)