i caught myself digging up old friends
as if i need to see their faces again
i went away and i stayed the same
you lay there and withered away
maybe there's better meadows
to bury these bones beneath
decomposing, roots grow slowly
you could help push the daisies

I need the rain.

Hard,
broken,
dessicated limbs hang
low and heavy
like twin pendulums
of shattered lead.

I need the storm

Cold,
cracking,
drained roots coil
notted and gnarled
like a cage
of sun bleached bone.

I need the flood.

Dark,
engulfing,
suffocated leaves wither
rusted and dying
like an endlessness
of time-ground sand.

I need the void.

I always knew about the ocean's calling, deep in my heart. It keeps me wandering to find what I yearn for — could it testify the animosity of being insatiable?

I wait on the shore like a lighthouse guiding your way back to me, as if I hold faith in it, like it is a perseverance that grew in my chest. I am certain to the florescence of my flowers and to its withering as I know the  durations of its life and death is when I could meet you again. And though, the inconstant desolateness of the ocean continues to wait.

How does it feel like to float in a complete void, alone with an uncertainty of surviving and going back to where you used to live? I was talking about the Sputnik II, the famous satellite launched with the dog Laika aboard. The very scene also portrays the life here on land. Each day, I'm caving in my own realities, an impressive way of escaping. It has buried me in that idea of you existing on it. It is a badge to be given, a sigh each time you twist the **** on the door.

And there I am, a banquet of a montage of a violent delight, a beauty of the sea cascading the shore, it's in my veins, a rushing current of this mere event. I watched people applaud, how the glass clinks, and you, an array of sun, so immaculate, I can't look away.

I cannot bear losing it.

and we'll be a specks withering, it is a bittersweet love:

I would endlessly live on it.

I am at a crescendo of this mercurially
fervent woe, maimed by the visage of
smoke and mirrors;
"a death in chrysalis is to live once again."

Draping into the worn out disheveled
silk, beautifully withered
lulled by the sound of riverbanks
as if it's pacifying the feral.

A star-lit eyes deluged with bliss
rose with thorn-teared flesh
overwhelmed by a mawkish melancholia. Although we were haunted by our old love, it will never be the same.

Bloom as you have reached your time
Show your beauty as you're born for
Sting with thorns as it is what you need to
Wither as your time has come

Every night as I go to bed with my conscious filled with remorse and my heart so heavy
I feel like a side of my body cries out in pain, and the other one feels wholly empty
Tears roll down my eyes as if I hadn’t cried enough during the day
Still, I wish there was a way in which I could just make the grief go away

My mind seems clouded with a million things, each of them ripping me apart
I feel so emotionally drained that even keeping up with my sanity seems so hard
Wanting to break free from the shackles of my mind, I now realize I can no longer carry
Carry the fear of futility, the fear of failure, the fear of everything. I just want to spend my youth in a merry

Insecurities forge the unrest I sense within my chest, they make me feel like nothing to the world I could give
The emotions that I have been suppressing have now left me suffocated, my ribs can no longer protect my heart by instilling all the pain, at any moment they might split
And though being thankful for everything I am blessed with, I feel like I don't even deserve a bit
With this constant thought running through my brain cells, I realise that I am slowly turning into an under-watered withering flower, with no desire to live

Withering by the prolonged waiting for someone is strangulation of euphoric flavor.

© Spriha Kant