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.

It is raining today
and all I have is
a  broken cup and Carlotta.
And with luck like that
my dear,
everything is better.
Bitter coffee in my cup
sweetened by her laughter.
And the cigarette I
share with her lips.
This is my lottery, my friend.
My *** of gold,
her shy amber lashes
and rainy mornings.
when she says she loves me.
With luck like that
my dear,
I'm the richest of all, you see.

Maybe love is,
the blood stains on the wall
and the reeking smell of whiskey
at the break of dawn.
Maybe emotion is,
the quiver in my breath
while you use me
like cheap ****.
It makes more sense
when you cut my eyes
and throw me in
the middle of the sea.
Than
when you hold my face
and say that you love me.
Maybe home is,
your hands around my neck
and the bruises on my back
and feet.
Maybe pleasure is,
the coral shade of my skin,
from when you choked me
till I couldn't breathe.
I'm addicted to the
accidental cigarette burns
every once in a while.
Maybe love is,
lying numb in the bathroom,
on the cold marble tiles.

"Nice to see you again!" she said, while she warmly hugged me. I couldn't help but notice how intoxicating she smelled. I was a straight woman but she fascinated me.
I watched her constantly as she walked to the kitchen and with a tiny jump, sat herself at the counter. "You look great!" I complemented and she tucked a lock of her hair delicately behind her ear and her lips beautifully parted and she said - "Thanks. I just took a shower." Shower. My heartbeat started to raise it's pace and my usually pale face started to change color. I was all of a sudden, blushing.
I wanted to touch her. Caress her face and maybe loosen her hair a little bit. She looked so fragile. So perfect. She looked at me with her mesmerizingly big brown eyes and gave out a tiny laugh. "Why do you look so lost?" She asked. "Oh, it's nothing."I lied and put a *** filled with water on my stove and suddenly she got down the counter. "What's wrong?" I asked and she did not utter a word. Instead, she leaded towards me and her lips met mine. With such desperation, she chewed on my lower lip and passion burned in me. We broke our kiss, our eyes blazing. And before I could say something, my husband called out "Honey, I'm home." And in that moment I realized that maybe her and me, we could be lovers. . . Or maybe not.

It was a lot more colder than usual that morning and I had been aimlessly walking for hours. I rubbed the palms of my hands together in hope for some warmth to maybe soothe me for a while. I kept walking, stumbling at times. Losing balance every now and then. Those stupid tears almost blinding me. Tears because the fog that morning was too much. Tears, because the pain that morning was too much.

I stopped for a while to catch a breath. I exhaled a visible cloud of breath that then vanished into the atmosphere. I started to walk again, aimlessly. I kept walking while I passed by all those places where the memories resided. I doubt if I noticed those grass hills and that dull windmill and its monotonous screeching sound. I think I didn't look twice at those off white buildings or that dusty swing. I walked past your house and maybe for the first time; did not give a glance at the top floor window, to which the lights of the room were always bright. I just walked. Blinded by the silver mist.

I pictured your face in my head for one last time. That shy smile, that ringing laughter that now haunted me. Your voice and those three words that were said countless times, echoed around me. I cried one last time for the tears that I had cried several nights already. Those never ending rings of the calls that I made, that were never answered. I let out a silent scream thinking of the stabbing pain of realizing that I had been lied to, the whole time. I cherished for the last time, your touch and that enchanting moment from when I kissed you. I giggled while I cried, remembering those inside jokes of ours. I shuddered with all those overwhelming emotions for that one moment, when I was yours and you, mine.

I realized I had stopped walking. I felt cold and weak at my knees until I realized that the mist had started to clear. The warmth tingled at my toes and the atmosphere around me started to brighten. And in that moment looking at the pinkish golden sky, I knew it was another morning. For me.

I don't know what this is about
Might be a mesmerizing dream.
Maybe another untold story...
Resting at the seam.

You might be another folded paper,
With secrets in to hide.
You might be another flawless sculpture
Made with the tears that you've cried.

There must be a thousand memories
Some neon and some blue.
There must be all those fairy dust,
That somehow completes you.

There could be a happy ending..
A friend or a lover
A secret that you are...
That I ache to discover.

It's not that I don't think about you.
I only don't think deep.
Not that I don't miss your presence,
your only presence was in my sleep.
Not that I haven't cried
but not for your memories that I've got.
I have always shed my tears,
for the ones that I did not.
Never did I regret,
those emotions that I never knew.
All that I wanted
was just another moment with you.
I'm helpless that I don't. . .
remember your voice or your touch.
Pity that in all of my existence,
I haven't learnt to miss you, inasmuch.
Well,
It's not that I don't think about you.
I only don't think deep.
Not that I don't miss your presence.
Your only presence was in my sleep.