If there is a door, I invite you but a reunion
to hold between our fingers.
A little sacrifice made its way
through the porch where we planted
a promise, perhaps a joy unnoticed,
as the mischief streaked with a tail
to whip us, to wake us up.

If there is a door, I request you but a triumph
to recall on the pages stuck to the wall.
An exhale ran through a roaring cascade,
tumbled over the chance to reassemble;
a burden of no choice, a cackle but
bookmarked for every fall we encounter.

He remembers a
curvature too straight to exist, surreal
but a childhood in the bloodstream.
Listen to what must he say, listen to
what he cannot say.
With three steps, lock a reason with
the old scotch like his ink beneath
the table.
Screams followed the
futility that loved to linger by the
lines; screams sank in the lines too.

Out there in the cold, you and I,
A sacrifice and a song.

Brown and black mark the day
of the deceased, the celebration
is in full swing and the band awaits
the midnight gown. The masks
have plucked the stars, so let’s begin.

Before the fountain drowns the
accordion’s laughter, take a second
to bow before the corrupted sighs.
Lick the ash and bleeding thorns,
there is never too less for a soul.

She will summon your darkened half,
so stitch your tears to the body and go.
Remember the routes that your sins
have carved, so ignite your last wish
to lead you beyond the world undone.

They speak in impious ink, the leftover
froth denies to be swallowed, but
stand there to help them gulp down
the lifeless. Help them tear the flesh,
help them gnaw at your breath.

©️Rooh

Your slick moves,
under the smoke we sit,
breathing in vertigo,
the intoxication that never leaves
and a scent to burn
our insecurities.
Your slick moves,
under the light that oozes,
has become my kind
of lifeline.

-MW

I'd grab the silver clouds between your hair,
I know how you used to laugh as they tickled your ears.
You'd pluck the stars from above and decorate my frizzy hair.
I'd breathe in the moonlight, you'd hug me by my chest to feel the warm illumination.

Now, I am still here, sitting between the sheets with black clouds in my hands.
The stars are looking at my frizzy hair that now has countless knots.
And the moonlight? No...
My frozen chest no longer yearns for warmth.

Darkness
it dares to invite me
to sit
and sink with the others.
I hear them howling
shrieking
and their vocal chords
tear open.
Their tears
are blood
their blood
sizzles
as it surfaces
on their skin.
Skin
that is melting.
I touch them to feel it.
Then I touch mine
but
I feel bones.

Perhaps the gate I open now
would either release me
from the plunge into hollowness,
a gut-wrenching piercing,
endless,
or it would feed me more,
more to let into my veins
and collapse,
never to wake up.

Your cry that gave me
a second's hope that
you might breathe fresher air...
It lied to me.
Now it is a blame
that I place on myself
and it has manifested
as a deep wound.
Oh Love, it keeps digging in me.

You are braver than all of mankind,
you showed them
that you do not fear anything.
But it always comes running to my head,
why did it take you away and not me?

Wherever you are,
my little bundle of happiness,
keep the others full of life,
just like the first time I held you,
your howls that have sewn themselves
in my heart.

You hooked my chest to drag me away,
And drag more lives away, to forcefully sleep
On beds made of thistles, just to hear us shriek
And maybe surrender to your realm of affliction.

Nonetheless I crawled out, and every night
I reach the brink where the line of woe
Seems to vanish and venture a trip to help me return…
Still, you wrench me back to euthanize my hope.

Let not the endearment be ebbed,
By what dawn bestows among the sultry red.
The night in day’s disguise, failed to appall
Us the beauty etched in once and for all.

He convinced her of an eternity
Which fights to get past the uncertainty
That lies in the passage for both
But promises a universe parallel to save their oaths.

Let not the endearment be ebbed,
By what dawn bestows among the sultry red.
The nights in day’s disguise are failing to appall
For what their hearts held onto before the downfall.

She took him under a wisteria tree that glowed
Beneath the stars that forebode,
A darkness ahead of their ephemeral moment
That lay awaiting for footprints broken.

Let not the endearment be ebbed,
By what dawn bestows among the wintry red.
The night no longer wears a disguise
And now succeeds to tear them both and scandalise.

With the flutter of her wings,
She ventured
A path pristine,
With cloud giants that loomed
Out of serenity,
Out to preach;
A journey that calls to naught.

With the might of his courage,
He swung
A novel rage,
That no longer knew bars,
Made of vengeance,
Made of thorns;
A step towards a plunge unknown.

Here today, I see no wind above the horizon
That once had the will to fleet and stun all lives.

I am on my porch standing with my arms wide open,
To utmost nothingness but a faded sillage.

Urged to the weakness of my will to see a phantom,
That glided through cries and flattered its vanity.

I murmured not long before a beam pierced through,
To unravel a bend within the passage I nearly sunk into.

How an unspoken tale yearns to be heard,
By eyes that flipped through its pages recklessly,

But Oh! Crying out to the unsighted, would they hear
My words abounded with stillness?

Hanging onto unwoven threads of hope, is it true
That I would plummet to an endless descent?

Clenching my fists around an unattested spar,
Will I have my footprints marked again on home?