There are so many possibilities I could think of that would benefit the both of us without this having to happen.
Like the way we should've spent our nights fighting over these tiny sheets instead of aggravating the pain that those simple arguments have caused.
I could've told you the words you wanna hear when I sat there in front of you in blank silence.
But you know you could've asked me anything when I've thought I've given you all the answers that you needed.
I guess we just traversed in this universe running out of luck,
Making me sulk in the corner when you seem to not give a fuck;
I guess we jumped into way too many conclusions,
Driven by our insanity and these hesitant conditions;
Convenient by this madness shared by two,
Or as other may call it "folie à deux";
We got through everything without even knowing,
I've left those small details I never thought had meaning.
When you said you weren't feeling enough,
I should've not shrug it off and acted tough;
Because baby I was weak and you're the catalyst that kept this bones from quivering,
The "pièce de résistance" of my deepest aspirations that you
unconsciously kept from wavering.
And here I am in the five stages of grief or so whatever others may call it. But it doesn't seem to add up for I always find myself regressing to those stages. I couldn't progress for I know when I reach acceptance, everything I hold up would have to be thrown down.
I write now, as the outlet of my misery. For I have nothing else to do, remember when it was actually talking to you? I want to fade into these unknown details and the lost breaking point. I don't want to know anything because to know means I have more things to worry about. I just want to sulk, and sulking I'll be till there's no more to grief about.
Words by Djeb Leomo
Artwork by Oprah Dela Peña