He told her in a whisper that he Doesn't need her mind,
Her mind had all the impenetrable corners,
She knew.
He knew.
The twilight of her
Unconscious, confused him.
He got lost in the distorted vision
She held in her mind,
Maybe that's why she thought
The colour blue had a syrupy
Flavour, and nights tasted like
Wine, did you know you could
Write poems about x-rays?
And pour coffee on ice trays?
The gaping abyss of endless
Possibilities was unduly terrifying,
You have to understand.
He chose to walk on the frozen Lake, tiptoeing, alert... as if he
Held a grenade;
Without having to delve deep
And shudder into the bottomless
Coldness,
Getting messed!

She felt her reality was a
Manuscript; trial and error being a
Constant process.
She grew into her story, without
Living in one.
Secretly longing for the love that
Sat in a bracket.
She was like a guitar solo,
Awakening,
Maddening.
And he was just in search of
Something silent and bitter;
Trying to find clarity in the
Semblance of things,
Because he had nothing better!
She cooked some spaghetti for
His brains, which he ate and
Belched, as he was wired with her Electric curls;
They waltzed into the most
Commonplace of beliefs,
As if there was no end to this world!  

As the dream broke and they
Fell off the margins of the book,
She found herself underneath
The ice sheath of her frozen mind;
He was still on his toes...
She could only see the fleeting
Glimpses of movement while
Passion seeped from her poresW

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.