and then
the: i with it,
                     i'd run...
    as i had ran...
ran and run
and ran,  
                    and run...
to have avoided
writing: this;
nearest...
            to nearing
a call of love...
     i can
afford
                    a funeral.
no:
   it didn't
         really matter:
but it mattered
to make wings
turn into a fluster,
           rather than flight,

My body is numb, completely soulless,
The words in my head escaped
floating around cause i forgot to close it
I could've avoided this
Instead I'm stuck with my choices
These days all i do is deal with the
Consequences and repercussions
Hitting me twice as hard than in the moment,
What do you expect? I'm only human--
I enjoy a drink or two it's not a secret
I was drawn to you but i should've followed
The vibes i got from you the first day
Let **** pass because i didn't want to upset you
You pushed me away
Then try to keep me inside your pocket..
That's when i put myself first,
Gave myself happiness
I created it, i prayed for it, i worked for it,
i try my hardest to keep it..
And you roll around with lies to trap me
Inside your spider web,
You lean forward for a kiss
That's when i said no..
So quickly you apologized
I should've left should've never waited
Should've walked out that door
& never looked back
At least then i wouldn't feel these
knots Inside my abdomen ,
Creating an ulcer that's stressin me out
Dealin with you and your families harassment..
Every day you try to reach out
I don't want your words
I just want to be left alone
You hurt me in the worst way possible
I was a friend and you took advantage..
I can't escape you, and you're deliberately
Breaking me down more and more
Is this what happens when i say no?
Did i owe you some part of me?
Is that why you took it upon
Yourself to take it?
I just need some answers since
I'm the one stuck with this.
-M.

I stopped time
on the brink of your lips

{and mine kissed eternity)

* *

trembling
holding the desired tool
her hands were trembling
ice cold
looking almost inhuman
quaking like a knife was placed in her hands and
she had to either **** her love or
herself.

she did it to distract herself from the demons that were
scratching and ****** her from the inside just needing to come out some way.

so she was generous enough to make a vertical pathway for them to escape.

So I'm sitting here, right?
Thinking of something to write.
It's not going very well, if I'm honest.

Like, I can't really think of something important to say...
Poems are meant to be poignant, though, aren't they?
Something worth time and effort, like a parable, or learning how to drive.

If you're interested, it hasn't been that long,
But I underestimated my own ability to shut down at will,
To run head first into dead-ends.

What is a poem, really?
That's not rhetorical, I am genuinely confused; my default state.
How many feet do I need in a line? I only have two to spare.

And if I give them away, how do I cross the finish line?
So I'm stressing over where to put the stresses
So my head's as blank as the verse in a Shakespeare play.

So I'm losing patience quickly, like a drunk doctor,
Or some similarly silly simile-slash-simulacrum,
Simulating the deepest of sympathies for myself.

Wait...Did I just do it? Did I just write a poem?
I think I did. I mean, I probably wasted your time in the process.
Sorry about that. Really, I am. How do I finish this?

Thanks for listening!
Wait, no...
The end!
No, hold on! I can do this...
Have a nice day!

Ah, whatever. You get the point.

What does this letter stand for ----"M"?
Now read along, ahem, "M",
"M" stands for mummies,
Magnets for mess,  and dummies,
"M" is for maestro,
Opera tonight? Bleeped if I know,
"M" is for misogynist,
Broomsticks up exes' male blips!
To women, they are not God's gift,
Yes, "M" is for misogynist!

LEARN FROM THE OWL!
Many of us think of the owl
As a foolish, ugly fowl:
It can neither strut like a peacock,
Flaunting colourful plumes,
Nor, like the shy nightingale,
Sweetly sing, every spring:
But the sages of ancient Greece,
Seeing  the night bird's virtues rare,
Said nothing foul about the owl,
Admired its bright round eyes,
Sharp and keen, able to see its way
And fly in the darkness of night:
Eyes, quite strange, looking not sideways,
But always straight and always right
And quickly turn its agile neck
And see all things happening
Behind its back as  well as front!
In all directions ,the owl can see
But, from different angles do we ever see?
Boastful humans, full of pride,
Who speak ill of the humble owl
Can scarcely match the skilful owl,
And a poet who loved this little bird, wrote -
"A wise old owl sat on an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke,
  The less he spoke the more he heard,
   Why can't we be, like the wise old bird!?"
                  *** M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.