☼ Sirenchild

we burn incessantly, it’s unending, the broken bits of your heart. as if we knew any better, pretending to facet them over, fixing ourselves up, claiming ourselves new. cracks inevitably showing yet our eyes keep blind and fingers feel numb against how brittle you’ve become. “we do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.” from an askew glass, sight isn’t what’s set in front of me rather the eyes twisting and turning what’s there into something separate, a place something within me manifests, a world i create because creation isn’t good enough. astonishing isn’t it, how the tint of my magnifier can only see so much of a certain angle, so little perspective yet such depth within it. like vines, we intertwine ourselves, our hearts already terribly tampered with, adapt too quickly to new surroundings, indulging entirely too easily, prepared and awaiting for more heartbreak. but black doesn’t get more black, it is as it is. in heartbreak, the split in half doesn’t split more; it’s already been torn apart. No stitch, no glue, no love, can fix what’s been broken, whats been seared to flames and fallen to ashes. we can not change that we are black inside.

we are a shade no one sees until they feel it; we are the species that not even we know how to explain but rather, we stay silent. because no words could justify how still the beats of your heart become, the quiet your collapsed soul carries. no sentence could fulfill the feeling,

just the solitude, the separation, the split straight down your body, spilling all contents of life out, the split

letting all but the light back in