Apart in my lust
I separate
Disconnect
Break

There’s an infinite space where these fingers once entwined
I rise above my own flesh just to watch it die

Languorous apathy
I slept as death whispered
Through the murk of my self-inflicted
Desolation
Regressing until my heart withered from its bones

Looking through windows of my past and your present
I have to say I start to feel my confidence lessen
No doubt we all learn lessons that invoke progression
But as to my direction I'm stuck here guessing
You smile too big and I wonder if its the same I wore
But hearing that name, in this time frame I cant think anymore
So im stuck to looking through windows of your present and my past
Calling out that name and knocking on the glass

At one time I could see her and how we would grow
But all we did was grew apart
Remnants buried in snow

The winter of any love is cold and desolate
Wandering through white where once there was color
Frost bitten tears say you have to make the best of it
But your heart is stubborn and steadfast that you love her

I think hypothermia kicks in when she doesn't pick up
Her heart beating fine without mine
My body froze solid still trying to knock

On that window from the*         *outside

It seems nice to hold an ideal reputation,
Nowadays we engineer them.
With a perfect filter, an edited word.
No worry in your tongue slipping.
When you finally take your eyes off, and notice the way the sun creates a sky of bright pink and orange, just as its about to say goodnight, are you happy taking it in? Just breathing in and out?
It seems nice to feel connected to others.
But what about your significant other?
Is he even significant? Or just another face,
that you can use,
to prove to others,
that your life,
is as pretty as the sun you always seem to miss, just as its about to say goodnight,
because you'd rather strain your eyes on a screen,
stressing about your impression on others,
then experience bliss, in the form of kinesthetic reality,
so perfectly imperfect.

Nothing but fragments
A picture frame with no picture
I can't see you, yet you remain
In the back of my mind
You remain
These thoughts don't connect
Don't flow
I can't seem to make sense of anything
Anything but
*You

She is a character perfect
for my work of science fiction,
chosen after much research
on unreliability of reality
as one knows does exist,
it's even more true of her.
In a hurry I concluded,
"What a  luck, I chose to write her
as the character of possibility!
                              then, how quickly
                              the class I expected of her
                              went totally to seed.
                              are we opposites?
Or, is this reality not shared by both of us?
what can one say about a situation when,
my own creation fights against my writ,
No, I am not in the same league as Luigi Pirandello
this is the result when commonsense is delineated
by a hallucinating mind, caught in love net.Zilch.

A gulf of emotions lies deep
between him and her right now,
she stands unmoved for long
on her island of grief.

He stands on the firm land
just an earshot away
waving  frantically at her,
as if everything is alright.
She just struts towards him
a bit, her face still inscrutable,
as if she has completely forgotten
her role on the play she is in.

Now, in a boat he goes around the island
and urge her to take a plunge;
is she afraid to jump and swim in the cold water
or she likes it there alone,
though cut off, from mainland,
comfortable in that island?

The jazz band playing in the background
sensed the change , stunned, has fallen mute.

A spittoon!
onlookers
look confused;
it speaks
a dead language.

Mackerel, they want to  be
both unanimously agreed;
but why is she stuck still
under the hide of a whale?