This monsoon afternoon is a memory
and as I laugh, he kisses me again.
The window glass is laced in droplets,
my *******,
pressed against the window pane.
The fragrant earth and lust in the air.
I have company but I am all alone.
The hollow in my heart, my gasping breath
the silence is filled with soft moan.
Yes of course, you can call it love.
Love can be a fun game.
Misery is not misery,
unless you give it a name.
The afternoon has ended long back
but it still hasn't stopped to rain.
This monsoon evening is a memory
and as I cry, he kisses me again.

My honey is a surreal dream.
Her laugh reminds me of,
the seashore at dawn.
But I've only seen her face
in a reflection of a burning match.
At the break of day; she's gone.
Her lips like marshmallow
and the intoxicating smell she leaves behind,
after her 4 am showers.
She thinks I have fallen asleep
when she loads her gun,
at an ungodly hour.
My love doesn't sing of love
but she makes love like,
an angel trapped in a burning cell.
And every night in my pretense sleep,
she ponders about the things
that she will never tell.
Her clothes smell of cigarettes and shotgun.
She lies about her bruises.
Hides the shirts; torn.
My honey is a surreal dream.
Her laugh reminds me of,
the seashore at dawn.

I find comfort in my misery.
There is solace in my cry.
I am kept alive by
the drug that is killing me,
slowly.
This life started wrong.
It was doomed from the start.
And I am walking through,
one step after the other.
Dragging my hollow torso,
asking to be set free.
I am doing everything wrong
like  nothing at all matters.
A part of me, is scared
of the ruins that I create
for the future.
A part of me stares back
with lifeless eyes,
knowing, there is no future.
There is peace in my sadness.
This melancholy,
is where I belong.
I don't want to be
rescued and taken back
to the black abyss of life.
I want to be,
set free. High. High above.
Flying.