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The storm that had passed.
I could feel, in ways that only guts can spill,
the rushed pace, shuffling feet, timebombs are receding since I fell out of love with you.

Certain words are poisoned food.
I had some of yours for thoughts.
Survival is plain and bleak for the weak.

This was so long ago before you found me out.
You might see someone else in the reflection, might it be water or mirrors you're standing in front of.
None of it matters now.

None of it was right. And so, none of us was any better.

Whenever a person treats another person's mistakes as they would want theirs to be atoned
I can't help myself to feel sad over it.
Not sure over what ground would I feel that, but it is what it is.

Singing incantations, for so less words paint you.
It pains. Me.