Holding on to you is like walking on broken glass with shoes in the hand.

I can save myself but the gashes on my thigh drain the longing soberly.

That evening you embarrassed my potency to write, by finding the sentences forcibly rhythmic and the feelings so unapologetically naked, that you felt disgusted.

I thought my humour could hypnotize you, but every time you laugh, only I get more hypnotized.

Sometimes I feel like drawing you next to my body and dancing away the distance within, but then my waist is wide and ******* unattractive.

Whiskey doesn't captivate me for long.i want to drink from my eyes.

Its surprising how I can never stir your emotions with the magic of my long eyelashes and red lipstick; how those kisses only held meaning for me.

You make me feel like a mother whose womb dried before her seedling could metamorphosize; or an alzheimer's struck old priest who doesn't remember his religion.

I dont remember when I felt like going to the church last . silence seems claustrophobic now.

As a child, I wondered if ****** ever waited for marriage proposals; waiting for your reciprocation is quite similar.

If I confess this to you, instead of vomiting on a piece of paper which begs for breath, you might feel intimidated or appalling first. And nothing after it.

The only time I have been careful in life, was while adding sugar and oil to the dessert I cooked for you.

The fragrance of your shirt is the only smell I find in my rose-garden. My consciousness is losing momentum.
I have realised how goodbyes taste. They taste like blood.

Sometimes when you hold my wrist, it feels you passionately want to press my veins to an extent that the pulse would stop.

Tonight I am removing the hopes you dressed me with. For they have rusted and shrunk due to repetitive washing.