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ankitasarma1996Poems
10:00 pm "In lores written on skins: deep in red, They say- Love is a parasite. Spells woven in lies and comfort made it whole. Almost perfect. Devouring every ounce of flesh it crept on to- Blood red, blood red. Roses dried. Women sacrificed- Rituals written in a language we all fail to fathom; almost always Red turned brown on pages that smell of broken promises- time measured in aeons." . . . 2:18 am I see the lights flickering in the distant background across the sky Your eyes look into mine- a thousand galaxies Your skin rough, your lips soft: Blood red, blood red I sighed. Love is after all nothing But a parasite. And then there's a kiss, in a darkened room. I feel it- the parasitic dread. . . . 7:20 am I am dead.
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Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
Love?
10:00 pm "In lores written on skins: deep in red, They say- Love is a parasite. Spells woven in lies and comfort made it whole. Almost perfect. Devouring every ounce of flesh it crept on to- Blood red, blood red. Roses dried. Women sacrificed- Rituals written in a language we all fail to fathom; almost always Red turned brown on pages that smell of broken promises- time measured in aeons." . . . 2:18 am I see the lights flickering in the distant background across the sky Your eyes look into mine- a thousand galaxies Your skin rough, your lips soft: Blood red, blood red I sighed. Love is after all nothing But a parasite. And then there's a kiss, in a darkened room. I feel it- the parasitic dread. . . . 7:20 am I am dead.
I write, not to let go of the pain but to drink it down. In small portions. You may call me a drunkard. I lost my love. What did you lose?
#love#lost#night#muse#blood#dead#life#time
Written by
ankitasarma1996
20/F/India
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:30 AM UTC
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