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take a stride in a room full of lurking shadows,
appalling wails and whines and spellbinding
sensations that make my chest wander for the
nth time in this walled twitterpated stead of
ours — of mine.

let the intoxicating fragrance of cigarette mixed with spilled coffee of lies and sham
disguised as loud kisses and delicate nights
guide you and be enthralled at how spruced our pictures are, together with the reverie
turned into shattered dreams.

but cautions must be taken — never stay for too long for it resembles a sanctuary of invisible arms drawn around my body that reminds me of how well loved and protected i am even in darkest times, a completely stupid hoax.
all my life
i've been preparing faces
to meet the faces that
i've met

the man who delivers newspapers
at our doorstep each morning

i've laughed at their silly jokes
as they tossed their heads from side to side
in naive stupidity and their sheer ignorance
a pompous lot, the human race i tell you

i've acknowledged their staunch morals
and tried to make them my own
as they scorned at the girl in a skimpy dress
and chewed on mutton bones gluttonously

all my life, i've been trying hard
to blend in
with people who've shown me
that i don't belong with them

and tonight when i shed gallons of tears
i have only my bed and pillow to share
i've learnt that my sadness
is my very own
just a sad girl writing to survive
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
You told me I was bold and daring and I told you it was because of my distinctive taste — fiery like the taste of red, a pungent flavor against deceit and deception.

You were the opposite of a burning taste of spices — honeyed and flavorsome. I was astound when you boldly relished my lips full of sharp-tasting fears and doubts as if it was a sugar drizzle.

You invited me to savor every delectable flavors of you by your dulcified metaphors and feats that suddenly became bittersweet promises only to be left with an aftertaste of a sugarcoated happiness.

— The End —