"I have lost you."
The day it took for me to say,
"Nothing more in this life mattered most."
in effect I have realized what's important until
we can no longer continue as we are,
this is not true.
I have relegated in my self-deprecation,
only



How I miss you.

"One fine morning,
                                      As usual Mary went for jog,
                   and while returning home, she checked the letter box,
                     Besides the usual bills, advertisements and offers
             There lay this ominous letter in black and crimson color...
                                                and of course,
             curiosity got better of her and she was ripping of the edges

                                    and on scanning the contents  
                                       she gave out a shrill cry...
                                          her fingers trembling
                                         her forehead sweating...
                                      
                                         It was a suicide letter!!
                                      A letter with news of death
                                            A letter from a man
                                                 who wrote this
                                         before his few last breaths...

                                       Slowly she read each word..
                             each one of them echoing in her head..
                                       the letter went as follows-

Dear Jane,
I love you a lot,
and I know you will be in shock and pain,
but I couldn't handle it anymore,
I found my answers in the dark,
I found solace in enternal bliss,
I just want you to stay strong,
and fulfill my last wish,
so lend me your attention, woman,
Do  you remember that old paino we have in the attic?,
I want you to gift that to my small sister,
Lily is naive and she would miss me and won't find any thing
To call her own anymore,
Give her this paino so that she may hold it dear to her heart,
If you don't do this for me,
then I am afraid my soul wouldn't rest,
and in a fortnight I would be chasing you as a ghoul,
you will always be my girl,
Love,
          Peter

                             Mary read and re-read again and again,
                             then she finally gave a sigh of relief,
                   and picked up her phone and went to do laundries,
                                                     You see,
                        the letter had reached the wrong destination.
                                               (what a irony)"

if ‘Untitled’
is the title
of this poem
is it really untitled?
or just perceived to be?

Why do I sometimes feel so lost
When even at my kitchen table I no longer recognise the walls decorated in history.
Sometimes I curse the music that ricochets from amp to ear  
For it cannot drown out the sound of my own head
As we sit in an internal silent battle
The voice stirs its last cackle
Its witches brew of smouldering self doubt

When did I start to put so much pressure on myself?
Was it before or after I lost all confidence.
Am I the reason for my own demise
Or the only one who sees me for who I am
Why are some days different
Why.

A veritable caricature of Jeremiah Johnson, I strung out on "truth"
     years ago.
Sitting amongst August sidewalks which sweat like a ***** in heat,
     I verbally assault passersby.
With a slurred battle cry of, "I can out merlot you any day!" I fall to
     my knees, unsure of which direction is up.
I try not to think of words like vertigo, or.....vertigo.
A honking car sounds life back into me, but the windows are tinted so
    I can't tell if I have it coming or not.
I flip em' the bird, just to be sure.