To the ideal,

You weren't reachable.

Just a thing my heels kept clanging after.

In the reality of the moment

I knew better

but the world felt constricted in a rosy tainted hue

I was stuck there among the implausible things.

Not worthy of any of it.

Yet the more I realized this,

the more desperately my hands curled and scratched

chipped nails and scarred chapped skin.

Self-inflicting torture,

to be so close to heaven.

Taste the swirl of honey that teased against your lips,

the sunlight breaking against your skin,

but it wasn’t for you.

The clanging for a perfection that cannot be reached.

- A squander reality


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