I can't wait.

/. You're afraid of my heart, but not a gun? /

blood. blood. blood. It flows like viscous cream before my eyes when I think of you. a colour of mystic sadness; pure deep sadness.

I want to turn you into poetry. press you against the backbone of a diary I had abandoned for a previous lover. polish you with the red akin to the colour of a ( bleeding ) heart. I forbid myself to paint you in the blacks of [her] vacant trails, but here I am, doing so.

this black is a hollow [she] etched to your chest. photo frame cracks and memories glisten in the whites of afterglow but you'd rather smudge with her blues.

the air pleads with me to stop breathing so that you can. you love [her], and the keen blue in your eyes breaks me. you hold onto [her] and I hold onto you. like a chain of mountains; like a stream of rivers pouring into the other.

I'm only left with words to write about you.

I'm happy to sketch you through a poet's eyes, the pages being my canvas. I paint you in the colours that haven't gotten a name yet, all royal and bright hues. I can never hate you, never un-love you, never quote you in moving-ons.

this is what tragedy is. a warfare amidst a brown town. swords plunged into the chest of two knights, one that rides her horse with the blade protruding from her ribs, the other lays on the ground. he awaits death — a rare victory. she follows him to his ground but makes sure there's distance. she's a forgotten saviour.

I can write, spill, pour and drip so much. wait and ache again and again. that's all I've ever done and shall ever do. love isn't a quill, nor a silver pad. It'll forever be a blood print, a collapsed home, a father leaving, woods burning.

I can make a forbidden love story thrive like an inked lore; absorb the colour and beauty from the divine hues of a prolonged red. someday when my daughter reads it, she'll know whom to it on,

because I can't wait.

images aren't mine. ctto!!

#week1prompt1