There was no story of the girl that met a boy
My name is Marta Ruf and I’m a 19 years old student from Poland. I’m currently studying first year Philosophy and Psychology at the University of Glasgow.
He wanted to scream;
his pale lips sewed shut
when he whispered the prayers to the God
He wanted to beg on his knees,
blood staining the floor
with the ugly memories of the sins
that he never committed;
He wanted to take the loaded gun
and point it towards his brain, wishing
that the dirty hole inside his skull
will make up for all the flowers
he took from her garden this summer.
He took her hand and kissed away
promises, leaving them in the morning
in the pile of the crumbled clothes;
he had never seen how many of them mixed gently
with shredded parts of her crumbled heart.
There was no story of the girl that met a boy,
no golden days and heated nights;
there was no happy ending;
He felt the cold metal tightening around his neck, bones
cracking like a broken match when she looked at him
with the eyes similar
to the morning sky;
he never cared to see the deep blue hiding
underneath the lashes until he made them crush,
like a broken sky,
spilling the rain on the saint’s cheeks.
‘Please’, he cried, his voice breaking; hot blood
boiling underneath his skin with the weight of all lies
that he fed her on the dinner dates;
the bitter memories of the heavy cross
on which she laid when he left her house,
still made his skin crawl
like the poisonous snakes.
His kind that finally betrayed him.
‘No’, she answered gently, kissing him
with the promises that he never kept; feeding him
with the truth that he never granted.
was the story of the boy that met the girl,
of the golden days and heated nights.
Of the happy ending that he will never know.
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