abandoned

Pond


One moment –

An eye contact.

I forgot everything in the world.

Closer, closer, closer –

The smile got bigger and bigger.

With every new root

I bloomed more.

You grew into me

And I into you.

I felt lighter and stronger.

A careless mistake;

You started pulling

Yourself out of my soul

And body,

Bit by bit,

Taking pieces of me

Along the way.

I am an open wound,

But with not enough blood

To dry up and heal.

The pond is empty,

The water is still;

Only tiny ripples

As a reminder,

While I watch your back.

Malachite


Lights flicker

In sync with my heartbeat;

Arhythmic waves enfold

And cushion.

Osmium eyelids are

Closing uncontrollably,

Leaving me unable to stay awake.

The vision.

Green shades fill the cave;

They shine through the metal eyes

I have still been unable to move.

You are here.

I cannot see, yet I know what

Is in front of me.

The masterpiece;

Meticulously polished malachite shapes,

Soft curves, and green dust.

The arrhythmia has become

Too powerful to contain.

I can see the faint images

Of stones and blades

Covered in granules;

Breathing is becoming heavier than

My eyelids. I know,

You are moving closer to me.

I no longer need my eyes to see

What I have encountered.

Your sweet copper breath

Gives me shivers,

Paralysing my vital systems.

You were born of destruction,

Torn from where you were meant to be.

I will happily face my fate

As your face comes closer to mine.

For I am just a simple miner

Who came to your mountain

Without being invited.

And as my breath diminishes into nothing

With every passing second

You graciously touch my lips with yours

And I can feel the smooth malachite hand

Sliding into my hair.

You are the queen of this mountain,

And I am but a slave

To everything you are,

Spending the eternity

With the nature’s masterpiece.

Time frames


Cutting the time frames

I try to put my memories back together.

None of them is mine,

Faces I see are unfamiliar.

Would I recognize your face

If it appeared on one of the frames?

I shut down,

No more memories.

The last thing I remember

Is trying to reach you

With a helping hand,

And watching you being engulfed

By the fire of pride.

I will create a story

Where you did not burn,

But were left behind;

Abandoned to contemplate your reflection

And the poison you have so willingly accepted.

Cutting the time frames,

I try to put my memories together.

This time, without the fire.