Though the sentence may end,
                       the ink carries on.
The cartridge seems vacant of
                                    wanton metaphors.

Exhibiting reflections on  soiled paper cups,
                wanting to be filled
with drinkable dictations of
                              what is spelt out in stains.

But I spilt that void long ago,
                          blemishing my shirt
with what meant to be drank upon.
        A decolouration of meaning read differently.

A footstep stood
is better than a step back.
We may leave a deeper print,
but it shows others
                    that's its not easily filled.

And that those that try to fill it,
              have lot more to prove


than the reason of its depth..

I was washed up on your shores
thinking you were serine blanket
                      that would caress me.

But you were more like a breeze
               gently eroding me before
I knew I was less than I was before.

You shaped me into a figure that
was useful eroding me inwards
             till I was a shell of my former self.

When I ever listened within,
     I only heard your voice washing
                           in waves seducing my mind.

She was the noose that
       I'd hang myself from,
I would put the snare of
        her heart around my throat.

Her words would caress my
       windpipe strangling
me with loves whispers,
              suffocating me gently.

But words were hard to speak
        when she was collecting tightly
around my breath.
I couldn't be with her as I was suffocating,
                                 my actions she hung me from.

Disembarking on the shores
                   of roadside curbs,
I look at the distance
of my eloping footsteps.

          Emigrating from that place
now in wishful forgetfulness.
But my anchor fell,  
                 and for now I have arrived.

Corroded glares emaciate
the surroundings, all that
was is now woven in despair.

The sadness enveloped in
tired souls painting around
this tide of decaying vision.

But within this sulphuric
black look, suffocating any
emotion looking within.

*"Beauty is a corruption,
                          of our egos,

I was but a message  of love
   floating in an ocean of loneliness,
and then I washed upon your shores.

You read upon this message
                       with every grain.
A moment of our lives has
    passed together.

And love was the moments
        waves caressed upon our hearts.
I was a message and it read,
                                    *"I LOVE YOU,