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If the night is half lit
and the silence is deafening loud
don't stop on the bridge upon Post Canal.

The shadows are rippling dark
and her water coiling snake
calls you to to take a dip.

It's shallow, says the phosphorent whisper
and the night too warm not to splash,
there's too much pain, the bridge creaks
leave behind, leave behind
you haven't anything to lose.

The winds buzz in your heart
disappear without a sound
nobody will know
nobody will care.

A few feet is not a great fall
and never greater than all the pain
you so silently suffered.

Once I stopped, tempted
almost inviting her to **** me in.

The coils rose and drew me in.

They said I jumped.

They could never know
I made peace with pain.
Shradha Rai Jan 2018
Speeding through the broken lights
as the cold winds cut through our lungs,
I press my cheek
hard against your shoulder blade -
your warmth
seeps through your fabric,
and mellows my skin.

The October wind
sweeps past my papery strands,
the translucent beams of the Dusk
dances against our backs
like pretty little Ballerina toes
intent on performing a masterpiece.

My bruises peek out
to greet the phosphorent concert,
and recite their greetings
to the chilly October winds.

Those lovingly carved half moons
tingle in fond reminiscence,
of a fleeting moment that
somehow fails to flee all the same -

Never managing to abandon
our trail of thoughts.
The sky looks down at us,
and adores my day-old hickies
deciding to play along -

She adorns a forgotten shade of
Purple.
The colour of Pride.
The colour of a sated Heart.

Soon it changes
into a powdery Blue,
and so does my mood,
as I walk towards home
leaving a Home behind -
staring at me
with fidgety fingers
and longing eyes.


©hecayte

— The End —