you were always too much of a poker-player face
for me to ever understand you.
I never knew that one person could have so many layers,
could peel apart themselves
almost like an onion,
but there were never any tears, not with your objectivity.
Was it numbness, a tingling burn in your heart
that led you to your way?
Were you too weather exposed,
too beat down to care anymore?
You never did tell me about yourself-
I never knew you quite as much as I wanted to,
but then, no one ever did, did they?
I wished I’d asked a bit louder,
let you know that I cared,
even though I doubt you would-
it’d be nice to see the reaction though,
whether I got one of those rarely seen smiles,
that seemed to shine
like a light coming through your armored petals-
you probably would have muttered your way on through though,
forgetting my earnestness in your thoughts I always
thought were so interesting,
whenever you actually decided to voice them.
Chrysanthemum Eyes,
you’re glossing over,
getting all cloudy and cataracted.
You're hand is getting a bit colder
as I hold it,
and that smile peeking through your
hardened face is slowly folding in on itself.
I’m sorry that we’re in this mess,
and I never asked loudly enough,
never let you know-
and now I think it’s too late.
Okay, so this is pretty raw, I know. Any thoughts though? I'd like to clean it up a bit.
Thanks!
-Coral-
