Family Album

An elegant sonnet the rain recites and the smell of the Earth that envolpes me, the dangling of my feet and the pink tint on your lenses.
A portrait of my sadness, that is neither poetic nor hauntingly beautiful, the ugliness of my anger resonates through the room just as much as the sound of the shutter,
the tips of your fingers ghost over the warmth of the screen, carefully and dreadfully,
we are suffering, endlessly.
A stray strand of hair splayed out on my cheek, engulfed in sweat and sticking stubbornly to me, and when your eyes lower to meet mine, and when the cheap velvet of the sofa rips underneath my nails, you stare rather distastefully.
Bits of sunshine creep in and make their way to your discoloured lips, the little hues of black that stick out oddly blend almost perfectly with the shadows beside the table.
You see the depths of my soul crumble a million times within your own two hands,  and yet, you ask me to smile again.
my teeth hang out, my nose all scrunched up, a ghoulish summer afternoon, and the picture you never showed me.
All of it turns into another false memory, where you and I happen to be happy.