Out with the sunshine, in with the storms. Maybe it isn’t that bad afterall.
Walls still unpainted of what used to be
Resting her gaze she brewed her tea
A sip it spoke to the speaker of the heart’s content
While thoughts came by and blame took its rounds of dent and unvent
And time played its card and left it scarred at the poor girl’s heart
But maybe it could’ve been sealed if she answered the odds appeal
Like learning the probability of nine to one that tea was not written in The Divine’s will
Or the mechanism that tea was just a nemesis of a puffed definition for beautitude bliss
For it has been carelessly heaved for the certainty of please
Alas, she then sipped a last sip and last teased, “How about a talk over coffee miss?”
But maybe, she’ll still have her tea like how it all used to be,
As the acquainted taste is what the matters of her heart only speaks
Brewing it, she provoked; How can a sip of tea exquisitely take its kill by heat
But, a wrath remains that coffee will forever foreordain than tea.
A piece of paper attempts to understand the soul,
unsaid vehement of emotions pierced together into words,
timelessly read, disorientating all sight of sanity,
fitting it all in like an allotment of vanity,
an afresh magnitude brought in and nothing else mattered,
for these words hold the aptitude of what loved ones never bothered.
Current Venue: In the Train
Situation: I’m (very, very, very and the very) late for my interview
You know those days where you’re all hyped to start a blog and you want your first post to have that KAPOWWWBANGBOOMKADABABOM impact.
Well, here’s mine /explosives blastfire entrance\ Never intend my first post to be on how ignorantly irresponsible I can be with time. I wanted it to be a poetry on potty poop stops actually. Strange….
I Know. But ouh well, I’ve reached my stop (not the potty poop one), gotta rush and wish me luck!
Am I suppose to sign out with love….