You broke me,
Absolutely and completely.
Your words more powerful than poseidon's trident.
Stabbing my dreams one empty future at a time.

I'm broken, empty and lost,
And I thank you for that,
For leaving me in scraps,
To build myself for tomorrow.
To no longer be vindictive,
To **** my ego.

I've been told to write happier posts,
Of gleaming sheep and daffodils.
So hear me sing of all things good,
Like the colour green and picking toads.

But the happiest bit that I can find,
Is the mortal state of our lonesome life.
The bright light at the end of the tunnel,
The gift of death and end to sorrows.

Those living amongst us are often quite dead.
A conundrum of listlessness in the monotony of human affairs.

Death's the prettiest form of love,
Eternal, quiet and forever alone.

No doubt still lingers, no unsure thoughts,
No insecurities of the skin or ****** flaws.

The warming embrace of death's cold hands,
Like the running of blood on the thick of the scalp.

The reaper's love is equally shared,
Between the prettiest madden and the toad faced fille de joie.

It's the eternal lure, the poet's device,
To ensure the pit stays, full of life. (metaphorically)

The silence is binding, and temptingly so,
For love is purest without any words.

A hush whisper seemed to be floating around the airport. As if spoken in a language only for the fairer ***, the women spoke to women as the men pretended not to hear.

A swanky new airport with all the amenities one could wish for coffee shops, restaurants, clothes shops and even a spa but the one thing they didn't have, the one thing which you'd expect to be more obvious than even air-conditioning would be a sanitary napkin dispenser. But then what would you expect in a country where the most progressive fem-care brand calls their highest selling product whisper instead of always.

Let the taboo roll on.