a poet's thoughts, condensed

[maxim,]

as the contents of their personalities
spill thoroughly like black ink onto a page
seeping through the delicate paper
which has been corrupted by obscenities
they've frozen into a mould
let themselves be manipulated and deceived,
although never willingly deciding to change
for any cause, nor consequence

[maxim,]

perception of the world through a neutral, black and white perspective
is just as unrealistic as looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses

[maxim,]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ cluelessness/painfully aware

why is it so hard to get over you?
deep inside i know the reason but its also something i avoid
similar to how a liar avoids confrontation when expecting consequences
deep inside, i know the reason but also,
i think it's easier to pretend it's not your eyes i fell for that day
it's easier to pretend that it's not the stupid inside jokes we have
and that it's not the cluelessness, the anticipation and the cloudy
hazed thoughts i hid at the back of my mind
to when i hide my feelings for you just as to avoid
possibilities of complications ▬ a sense of prolonged longing, in a way
all of these actions to avoid having to lose you


why did it have to be you?

[maxim,]

your words spill out from your lips like ink from a pen cartridge, which pours out into my thoughts like my brain's a piece of paper you take all of your displeasure out on.

you're trying to apologise; worried eyes and lips turned into a pitiful frown,
and oh i know you tried. tried so deeply to prevent it, to hold it back.

and maybe, rather, you wished you'd poured vibrant paint onto the paper like a canvas, ready to be devoted to you; to willingly accept anything you caused upon it, no matter the intention or the careless impulsion.

but it's too late, the spillage has happened, and the piece of paper is soaked from the ink that wrecked havoc upon it and tore through it- the thin piece of paper that was at its breaking point.