By: Natasha Karenina Wijaya
he glances at me
like the sun
grazes the grass
of an empty field
with a crook
in his grin
and starry nights
in his eyes
singing to me
that I am nothing
less than perfect
he screams excitement
and fear
for a love so ragged up
it will not survive
not through the weaves
in the holes
or the threads
that we’ve placed
to cover up
the flaws embroidered
onto us
he smells like ash
burnt out
on a tray filled
up to its brim
like a cigarette
his love stings
and fills my lungs
suffocating me
yet somehow
in him
I have finally found
my breath
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