when the tree calls my cuts.

by Matthew Burgos
by Matthew Burgos

Some nights, I wondered how the leaves felt when they kissed the clouds, the known barriers of the sky. Were they ever grateful they could see us from above, when we died each day just to soar with them? Our hands bled from our chafed fingernails—could I have, at least, a few drops of the heaven’s graces?

You crossed your legs as you rested above the tall tree—you looked beautiful as the King. I threw sands among the winds, hoping it would reach you the way it sank between my ribs.

But you turned your blind eyes to me.

May my pleas reached your calls. I cut my skin to show you I deserved the same position you were in.

I once knew you as the fallen angel I saved, but you became the devil you met in paradise. I thought you would deliver me to salvation—your promised this. But the mornings came with dusks behind their suns and I found out you would remain the same.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

let me hold your words before you leave;

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