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Description
Despite all of those constant threats,
accompanied by floods of tears
that were rapidly turning black with bleeding mascara,
and wiping her face of colour,
leaving her stripped and vulnerable,
it is 4am and I can still hear that familiar tapping
of tiny stones hitting my bedroom window,
dying to invite me into secret conversation
whether to be out of ear-shot of parents
or lover.

But tonight, too exhausted from faking chronic satisfaction,
the rhythmic tapping of stone against glass
acts as a metronome rather than an alarm.
I remain warm, cocooned in think cotton sheets
and drift back into another fatalistic sleep,
though I know the morning will bring only curiosity.

I never thought that I would tire of it.
But this monotonous routine has gotten far too fatigued.

Unfortunately for me,
I am as contradictory as I am curious.
And only an hour after the last rock hit the glass,
I perch on the windowsill
lightly pressing my fingertips against the mark
that the final, desperate collision had made on the glass.
Perhaps hoping that it held some kind of truth.

The moonlight pours over the contents of my room,
and I watch the shadows dance around my bed
until they settle on the empty, pristine side of the mattress
and take the place of where you used to lie.

Description
Despite all of those constant threats,
accompanied by floods of tears
that were rapidly turning black with bleeding mascara,
and wiping her face of colour,
leaving her stripped and vulnerable,
it is 4am and I can still hear that familiar tapping
of tiny stones hitting my bedroom window,
dying to invite me into secret conversation
whether to be out of ear-shot of parents
or lover.

But tonight, too exhausted from faking chronic satisfaction,
the rhythmic tapping of stone against glass
acts as a metronome rather than an alarm.
I remain warm, cocooned in think cotton sheets
and drift back into another fatalistic sleep,
though I know the morning will bring only curiosity.

I never thought that I would tire of it.
But this monotonous routine has gotten far too fatigued.

Unfortunately for me,
I am as contradictory as I am curious.
And only an hour after the last rock hit the glass,
I perch on the windowsill
lightly pressing my fingertips against the mark
that the final, desperate collision had made on the glass.
Perhaps hoping that it held some kind of truth.

The moonlight pours over the contents of my room,
and I watch the shadows dance around my bed
until they settle on the empty, pristine side of the mattress
and take the place of where you used to lie.