yearsandyears (English)

in #shortpoem7 years ago (edited)

The night I knew the nuances of the colors that blood could have, I was 10, my tenth years in this world. My favorite was black, which happens when it accumulates.

The night I felt desire, I had 11. I wish for him.

The night I wanted to die, I had 12. Die for him.

The night I ran out of air, I had 13. Air that he stole from me.

The night he stole a sigh from me, he was 14. When he kissed me. Damn thief.

The day after, he stole my words. Offender.

And the day of his departure, my hopes. Bastard.