08 : 40

it’s a wonderful lie
to casket a smile
chickening out
to halt a frown

it’s a brilliant fib
to mask behind
all of my cowardice
pushing doubts away

i used to love you,
is that the right word?
how does one even
truly fall out of love?

we broke each other?
i—scratched of rationality
you—on the sore floor.
the final embrace,

supposedly
understood,
truth was you did not
it is no fret—does anybody?

is this endless sorrow
are my waterfall plaits
enough to plaster
your bruised heart?

will efforts
go to waste
purely to witness your joy
one last time?

i used to love you and
cliché as it seems
it is not you it is me
you are spared now.
ploy.