not even the hardest rain can stop
the fire you started in my chest,                                                    
the burning desire consumes me
until i become
the smoke impregnating in your skin

you eyes haunt me in the middle of the night
my pen is blocked, my thoughts have gone blind
your voice, your touch-
permanent tattoos always reminding me
how in this sick world
you are the remedy for my being.

your fingers dancing on my body
melt my skin
i become
one with the sky and one with the ground,
you are the infinite
and I
just an earthling
coming back to live
everytime you kiss me

we had many addictions,
but i gave up them all
i am only addicted to your lips,
your insanity is the only place i want to live in
i want to become you and you to become me
i want to feel your taste

so kiss me, hold me
let me get lost under your skin
for forever

let me be your ******

I was a shape in my cosy little shell,
I stayed...
I nestled.
My cookie-cutter thoughts would
occasionally rebel...
And stray to the windows.
But still they were imprisoned by the
walls that surrounded.

I would steal bashful peeks
out a window.
I'd let my senses take unrestricted flights,
as I stared into the grandeur of the carnival
that seemed to have sprouted overnight...

Just beyond the confines of my home.

"What a marvellous circus!" I'd think...
I'd gawk with child-like adoration
and never blink.

The universe lay sprawled
in a celebration of systematic chaos.
It stretched far into the horizon...
A delight to the senses,
perceived through such young eyes.
The world had told me stories.
They were like fireworks
that speared up to the sky.

I wanted to be a part of the jubilee...
I longed for the validation of my existence.
I wished to claim the gift of life bestowed upon me.
I'd resent being held hostage by my indoctrinated ignorance.

I was a shape.
I knew I was a square.
I knew I had a home...
But not within those four walls.
Simply because...
My heart wasn't there.

Today bears the weight of erstwhile trepidation.
Uncertainties exhumed only to be hung up as ominous flags.
Black as night my widowed heart paraded through the procession.
Garbed in ash encrusted, sequinned frock, hemmed train all tattered in rags.

Herald the face with no features yet obscured behind a chiffon veil.
In hands, a bouquet of black roses, worm-eaten to the stems.
The mourning sun only gave the weakest glow,
feeble attempt to rejuvenate all that is stale;
to imbue the shimmer back into forsaken jewels and dulled gems.

Her entourage kept up with heavy feet; all grim and sullen.
Also faceless... Armed with pitchforks and torches.
Today they will draw much; having thirst for crimson.
Today they witness her death as the black parade marches.