I am happy as a flower,
pirouetting with the sonnets in the wind,
smile doesn't leave my skin,
I dance under the shade of love.

Blue and then yellow,
a butterfly changes its colour.
I follow it through the tone of green.
Intoxicated by the fluttering wings,
I don’t want this to end.
Our symphony.
Our celebration of freedom.

Often at breakfast,
I savour the piquant poetry
dipped in the honey of your eyes.

Sinking to the deeper suffocation,
I scavenge the soil for the astray nail.
A final spike to lock away the life.

As the light gets darker,
a pungent smell takes over,
smearing everything in its stench.
I descry my melting face.

Air implored perfervidly to break my obstinacy.
I dived deeper,
smiling at its desperate attempt.
Its hope to stop the dead from dying.

My fingers touch the inner debris,
aspiring to find the last nail for the coffin.
A couple of more suffocations later,
I find it;
hidden under the pile of thorns.

I pin it to my heart.
One last breath,
and I ceased at the dawn.

A part of my skin burns,
the other patch numb with cold.
Torn between the extremes,
I crave water.
Hundreds of gallons of it.
Anticipating it to soothe,
to bless the charred insides.

There’s a puddle under the table
or under my hallucination.
I can’t tell.
I touch it with my face, dreamily.
Each gulp as confusing as the last.
I am not sure how to tell
if it can be a saviour or not.

I need the warmth of your skin
to fix the cold of my bones.

I let it out at times,
the tethered soul of mine.
Let it savour the light,
hang in the smoke,
extract the trailing drops of life.

It tiptoes.
Scared to touch every being.
The familiar difference is intriguing.
I let it oscillate.
I let it oscillate freely.
Oh! The dance of the captive!

It floats through the words,
each syllable lumbers to make sense.
Scared stiff of each utterance.
The jibber-jabber could burn the pages
like its inside.

It puffs up. It shrinks.
It cuts.
I watch it bleed in hesitation.
Till it's again confined.

I exaggerate everything.
The pain under my eyes.
The strain in my muscles.
Every time, it’s a unit darker and heavier.

There’s a relief; a moment of ecstasy,
In over describing things.
I feel real.

A bubble of air sits in my veins.
It stings.
It burns in the gaps.

How do I honour it?

I try.
Every time.
With a unit darker and heavier.

To dare is to touch,
touch the hallucination of your presence.
My reverie doesn’t do justice,
to your eyes under a blithe twilight.
My hands run through the air silhouette,
collecting wishes of you in my palms.
They come in handy when writing poems of our love.
I cut through the illusion,
afraid,
I will let you deceive my heart.

A bone in my collar curls up,
your scent tickles my skin.
Catching up with puzzled eyes,
I try to unravel this time,
this moment,
this love that sends me chills.

Why do I smell you here?
In my basement?
I barely heard you unlock.
Sweat trickles down in confusion,
disclosing the hard-held anxiety.
I am surprised,
startled at how weak the air could get.
Almost failing to help me breathe.

I leave my corner,
swaying feebly to the restricted music in my head.
Tapping and twirling into a gamble,
into a bet to lose my sanity.

I let you play me.
Let your scent grow on me.
Falling lightly into your notes,
I almost dare you to love me,
to love me like I am a home.

I brought back a string of pearls
from the cemetery of vows.
It camouflaged a black dot;
size of the berry seeds.
I felt like a magnet to its deceiving hue.

As I move it over my wrist,
the dot sticks to my transparent veins.
Streams of blood absorbed the maleficent mellow,
furnishing me to be the new home.

A spider crawls under my toes in lust,
intoxicated by the warmth of my veins.
Do not waste a drop, I cried,
guiding it to drain me out of blood.

Today is my day.
A test to impress the Master.
To prove my dark is worthy,
skilled enough to be a successor.

The dead settled in me; one by one.
They hunted for life in every corner,
raided the deepest pit.
My black was satisfying.
They dressed me in the cloak of death.
I laughed at my desperate attempt to be the new Master.

The final round,
A fight with the Master himself.

He strikes a hole through me,
the void was known yet distant.
I want the throne,
I slash him in two by the cut of my heart.

I sit through the tunes in my head
by the heat of the ablaze night.
Its grotesque fire bellows inside me,
rage envisaged breaking my soul.

Streams of dots,
haphazard connections,
reels of memories burst through the veins.
Reminiscence of perfidy sting in lapses,
hurt every rib,
every gap in the bones.

Ribbons of lies unravel my skin.
I start to burn.
A corner at first,
then all through the back.
Fumes rise in sync with the flames.
I lose a skin here, a patch there.
Smoke choked my barren eyes.

I believed.
I lost.
I am paying through the ashes of mine.

Like tulips of the spring,
burns ornate pores of my dark.
An array of greys and black
to disguise flesh as rainbow smudged by the scars.

Your accidental touch,
my aloof heart,
set up the incantation.
Will you tell?
How do you dissolve smidgens of spill over my skin.

I saw a grey love.
As rotten as a deserted carcass.
The hidden motive.
The rage of hunger.
Grey garnished it all.

I hesitated,
Took a step back.
The mossy green heart sparkled.
Nauseating me with the dark.

I had to rescue the promises.
Its yellow body.
Its broken limbs.

As I slithered into the grey,
It settled on me.
I smelled of blazing bricks,
waiting for the Fall.

The yellow evaporated;
steam settled on my unshielded eyes.
I didn’t hesitate.

It tingled.
It left.

And here I am growing with the mossy green heart.