#i guess when the temperature drops outside the brain automatically falls into auto defensive mode of trying to make me feel that the life

[stfumons]

i wake up and you’re not here anymore , you’ve been gone for months but i when i woke up today and breathed into the sheets that we spent our nights in, smelt like last weeks fresh laundry and not you — i guess that’s when i realised you’re not here anymore.

you walk , you come home , you stay , you leave — it’s a turmoil that you don’t stop and i haven’t been able to escape.

the colours on the walls have started to fade , now when i scab the parts which we left to dry — all that pours out is the blood from my fingertips.

so should i paint these walls with the blood on my hands or should i burn the sheets and spread the ashes over the walls.

it’s black , white & grey — because once you left , the colours never meant to stay.