Red hands and white lies

Our love could have been anything...

A song playing on the beaches of Miami
or a valley found in between the mountains
of the moon;
a kid thrilled for an endless roller coaster ride
or a beautiful coincidence happens
on a wistful day.
.
.
However, you failed
to keep these gifts from nature in mind.

Let's forget it and imagine
a kite in the rainfall or a tree
in the summer winds
— my soul has felt that pain;
a missing piece of a puzzle
or a poem waiting for the title
— my life is going through the same.
.
.
Everyone is someone;
I am, certainly, what you just imagined.

From the moment,
I looked into your mesmeric eyes,
it was clear they would leave me
in the middle of nowhere,
yet I pulled myself in and took the risk
worth not taking.
Now, I am away from home, friends;
digging up our vows in the graveyard of tears
(somewhere in the beginning of my end.)

And you are on a new road
to do the treason with the hearts
you live in
yet forget not to cover up the tracks
of
blood red hands
with dust of your white lies.