The pen gripped But the inks splattered And the emotions overflowed Spilling of the edge Leaving the wet pages Smudged. Staring at the blank Lusterless. The only words were written out, I miss you but I want it to halt. It's a curse To be once enamored.
The December 12, Beneath the glow of the full moon's radiance, Wrecked, stained reminiscences lay, Dull in the brilliant full. In a gentle night's breeze With a sense of rage howling, The fragmented selves Averted their eyes Warded off their thoughts Not to catch others’ off guard. A soft red jumper, jersey, and a beanie Wreathed in laughter, And the other sad eyes Giggled with a bright smile, The play was decent None would be suspicious. Yet only the brightest full moon witnessed, the caved in souls.