Two.

She is complicated
and sorted. Stylish and
boho. Fun and philosophical.
Loyal and insecure. Witty
and dry. Black and pink.

He is carefree. And intelligent.
And mature. And deep. And
fun-ner. And very much loyal.
And centered. And a gadget-freak.
And normal. Cool-blue.

At a table for two,
they eat.
Each alone.

Void.

There was sucha midnight
when the skies were all white
the air took on a glow
the moon shone really bright.

The city still did not sleep
the dark was lit up by your song
your music fills up my void
long after you are gone.

 

Words.

He does not make words
for me. He instead, makes
up excuses. And tells me old
stories from his life.

He catches me when i’m
stumbling onto the path, and
leads me back when i go
astray. He keeps safe
distance when he thinks
i am getting diverted from
what i ought to do, first.

He hears all of my words, though
he barely responds to em.
He makes me a mirror sometimes,
and hangs it right in my
head. So there is some perspective.

He plays music for me, which
i, at times misconstrue to be his
words. He asks nothing
and never clarifies. Leaves
me hazy, but never leaves me.

He does not make words
for me.

Trigger.

When all methods have been tried
All places travelled
All people loved
All e mails sent;
send me a handgun.
That’d be my method of choice.

Practise on a target first
So i get a feel of it.
Let me put on that black coat
And that little red dress.
Let me smear kohl on my eyes one last time.
Have one last drink
Write one last poem.

Then just load it
And shut my mouth.
Shut my mouth around the barrel.
Quieten these thoughts that consume me
And these emotions that overwhelm.

Think one last time.
Of that thing i cant seem to explain
Of that thing you cant seem to understand
Of the ever growing distance neither of us is attempting to cover.

And just pull the trigger.

Wow.
🙂