STRUGGLE. STRUGGLE. SUCCUMB.

Written in the morning.
Shredded that afternoon.
Retrieved today.
Published now.

_________________________________


No more I Love You's
No more sweet stuffs
Mere goodnight's and
Goodmorning's
are all that's left of us,
of what we had,
of what could have been.

You uttered saccharine-filled
Words of admiration
and affection.
Sappy yet sweet, sappy yet sweet.
Yet, a simple 'Enough.' was all it took
For things to turn sour and
We succumb to the bittersweet ending.
The parting, the farewell,
The too-bad-it-did-not-work hooplahs and blahs.
Sour yet sweet, sweet yet bitter.

Though we both understand,
And we do very well,
We shall still bleed in love.
And we are.
We are bleeding.
For though we know that we soon
Would fall apart, we keep on
Coming back to the start.

________________________________________

I might be trying too hard.
Might have been trying too hard since the start.
Do warn me, dear.
Though I'm fine with falling,
I don't like crashing
and burning.


It's just me, love.
A try-hard poet.
Hopeless.
Probably depressed.
Frustrated, even.
Peculiar. Most possibly.

I give out one last sigh. Type out one last line.

Done.

*PAT