Chร o cรกc bแบกn! Vรฌ nhiแปu lรฝ do tแปซ nay Truyen2U chรญnh thแปฉc ฤ‘แป•i tรชn lร  Truyen247.Pro. Mong cรกc bแบกn tiแบฟp tแปฅc แปงng hแป™ truy cแบญp tรชn miแปn mแป›i nร y nhรฉ! Mรฃi yรชu... โ™ฅ

โง ๐’ป๐“‡๐’พ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’น๐“ˆ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“…

โ› ๐š๐š›๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐šœ๐š‘๐š’๐š™ โœ
/หˆfrendยทสƒษชp/
(๐š—.)
๐šŠ ๐š๐š›๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐š•๐šข ๐š›๐šŽ๐š•๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐š˜๐š—๐šœ๐š‘๐š’๐š™, ๐š˜๐š› ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šœ๐š๐šŠ๐š๐šŽ ๐š˜๐š ๐š‹๐šŽ๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š๐š›๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐šœ.

โŠฑ โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€เฎ“เน‘โ™กเน‘เฎ“ โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ โŠฐ

he was always so delicate, you know?
not weak.
delicate.
and the thing about delicate people-
they aspire to be stronger,
firmer,
bolder,
anything but so brittle.

he was never bold, was he?
i always saw him in italics.
eyes reflecting fragmented hazel hearts,
twisted honeysuckle limbs,
his backbone the curved neck of a swan,
his head almost bald.
he was never bold.
and he-
was called our friendship.

and he was so sick, you know?
sometimes, starkly sick.
his tourette made his brain hiccup,
and his chin twisted up sideways with short, sharp, sudden movements.
sometimes, colourfully sweet.
his synesthete eyes saw our voices, our touches, our love - in colours -
perhaps he saw our heartbreaks in colours too.
since then, all the hazel hearts in his eyes were upside down.

sometimes, painfully sick too, didn't you notice?
after all he was our friendship.
scathed,
bruised,
coughing out the blood which was burning in his stomach,
his toes curling with quivers from the needles pinned down his thighs,
his fingernails digging into his open scalp and his million broken hearts shut tight behind his eyes --
"please, please, just stop. just make it stop."
his twisted limbs were lying right there between us, just like the twisted pretty white lies.

i have been lying to you, you know?
he never 'was' our friendship.
he still is.
and always will be;
he is cursed with the vows of forever -- a death-less life.
now you see, the bleeding scars on his pale bare skin are naked to the toxic air that hangs like heavy storm-sweet clouds between us.
he'll live, don't worry, but-
can you leave him to suffer?
should i leave him to suffer?
will we leave him to suffer?

โŠฑ โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€เฎ“เน‘โ™กเน‘เฎ“ โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ โŠฐ

โฅ Author's Note:

there were mentions of certain neural disorders in the poem, which i do not intend to underestimate.

ยป Tourette (too-RET) syndrome is a disorder that involves repetitive movements or unwanted sounds (tics) that can't be easily controlled. Tics typically show up between ages 2 and 15, with the average being around 6 years of age. Males are about three to four times more likely than females to develop Tourette syndrome.

ยป Synesthesia is a neurological condition in which information meant to stimulate one of your senses stimulates several of your senses. People who have synesthesia are called synesthetes. Chromesthesia is a type of synesthesia in which which a nonvisual stimulus causes the individual to perceive color.

โ‰ˆโ˜†โ‰ˆ

Bแบกn ฤ‘ang ฤ‘แปc truyแป‡n trรชn: Truyen247.Pro