Time is not altruistic. Time doesn't reprieve you of the pain, the torture, the suffering. It's inexorable. It'll drag your existence through the mud, holding you by your rumpled hair, until your knees are adorned with a beautiful dark contusion. A haunted concept, the ghost of which will always tread on your heels. Seconds will find themselves to reincarnate as days in the blink of an eye. It's the wine stain on your favourite shirt; an irremediable mess. The honeyed poison on your lips, that I shall devour with lust. One day, you'll run out of your poison, run out of the blood that courses through your veins. Maybe then, you'll realise what it truly held, beside the venom we consumed. When you're exerting yourself to the tens to even breathe, endeavouring to process the thoughts that run through your mind, every memory of us will come flooding back to you as tsunami tides. The tidal breakers will throttle you in their authority, as they wreak havoc from within. Love washed upon the shore of our bodies in subdued, gentle waves, but this time, the currents will be fervent and noxious. Believe whatever you desire to, but time will end us.
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VEIL'D MELANCHOLY.
PoetryNeither salt nor sugar settles on your tongue. Only this blood of mine does. Neither I nor she fills up your heart. Only these tears of mine do. [POETRY/PROSE]
