A/N: In brackets are some edits.
his silence is my chaotic cacophony,
with thoughts of him hissing and burning like unwanted scars
the dreaded wound of shame to my nebula of small pride.
it's cliché, but it's true, for often he
laughs, causing a shattering of my façade to let me see the stars[,]
who tell all the times i dropped my childish smile, and to us both, lied.
we're clumsy in our own way, let's see
the times where i wrote him in my memoirs
to recollect the galaxy of dreams i had and then denied.