Abstruse one

there was nothing romantic about our lost love. it was a tragedy. i‘m still trying to recover from what is left of you. Tell me the color of your pain, and I’ll mix it in a palette with mine, to create a masterpiece of our own, one that only we understand. You call them blemishes Patchwork skin Formed from marks and spots and scars But what happens When you step back What happens When you view the whole Can you not picture the constellations Can you not see That your body is not Stained With imperfections But Embellished

I wrapped myself In thorns And then hated everyone Who tried to touch me .I no longer know if it’s your voice I keep hearing, or if it’s even your scent that still clings to my skin. Maybe you’re now more fantasy than memory. just a collection of wants I poured into a man. I’ve already watched you go. Made plans. Prepared my heart. I know how to deal with the leaving. It’s the staying I’m not ready for.