One day you told me you’ll live,

And I waited for you with flowers on your grave and a smile on my face.


You told me in a few years we’ll get married and have kids and have a beautiful house alongside the beach shore and watch the sunset go down but the few years were up. I waited for you for years but you never showed up but still I waited by your grave with a smile on my face with my body in another’s embrace. Waiting.

My hands were wrinkly as well as the other parts of me, but I always saw the smile on my lover’s face the same as yours once did. You promised me you’ll come back but you never did, and whenever I waited with flowers in my hands and my heart on the bed we once shared in passion and amenities, my tears of joy will drip in the piece of land you rest on and I’ll see your face below me.

You’re decaying.

Hot with the heat of the cores of humanities.




Over and over and over again I read the words on the stone erected from the pits of the dirtiest land they laid it on. And over and over and over again I will cry and all my sanity will wash away with the sounds of my tears and the echo of the emptiness of my surrender. I will hear your voice again and it’ll replay in my head like the thousandth time in that century you were away. It just seemed like it was yesterday when you left me with a smile on your face, and your breathing slowly lower its pace.

“I’ll come back for you and live,” you told me like it was the easiest thing to say. “You’ll love me even if it’ll take a while, you’ll promise me, won’t you?”

I told you I would stay and I watched your life slowly dissolve away like bleach erases the deeds done that day. Because it was your silkiest touch and finest of kisses that made me want to say that everything was okay, and you’ll be fine and you’ll be back someday, and whisk me away in our fairytale ending with smiles on our faces. But it never came.

I waited.

I waited.

I waited.

I’m still waiting.

But you never came.

And my lover will come to my side and wipe away my tears and smile at me like the smile you once gave me with love and hope and the tender promise of love reawaken.

“Don’t worry,” he said and he gathered me up in his arms like it was you who did it everyday. “It’ll take a while but he’ll come back for you and live. He promised you, didn’t he? You’ll love him even though it’ll take all eternity.”

And I saw you for the briefest of moments and forgotten that it wasn’t you who I laid my lips on and the smile that graced my lips wasn’t for you. Because I was tired of waiting and I wanted to see you soon, and for the love of all happy and the tears of hope that came down crashing, I noticed that my lover was just like youbut without the blood on his face or the decay on his body or the eyes that told me he loved me even in sin and hope that everything was going to be okay someday.

My eyes unseeing I picked up the last sheath of soundness of mind and create the distraction abhorred. I would choke at the sound of my lover’s whimpers as stroke by stroke the sloshes and sounds of his distress take notice at my own. I smiled at him.


And eventually fade away to nothingness like it was planned from the days passed to come. I remembered the tiles covered with red and the splotch of his surrender on the dry floor of your sanctuary. Where everything was white, pale pink, and blue. Like it was a baby’s cries of a mother’s love as it just came out from the womb. And it would repeat the memory over and overagain, and I will cry at the tone of the voice of that last few sounds you made.

It begged me not to go.
It begged me not to go.
It begged me not to go.
It begged me not to let go.

But I did and I now I’m paying the price with my own blood and my own love and my own heart and my own life and I would say goodbye to my lover with a smile on my face and a tear rolling down in one swift grace. I waited and waited with bated breath, I waited. It’s now my time to make commends and come to you with my body laid down on your piece of the earth and my hand rested on top of your decaying body.

It’s now your turn to wait.


One Response to “Wilt”

  1. 1 Tickles your ear fanny. « dreams are sewing machines.

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