This midnight, I just sit upon the high edges of the wall staring deep into the dazzling gloaming world. It reminds me of you and our sinful past. Cellar under basements, hiding your Porche' and Bentleys. A bunch of pitch tar Dobermans looking out for someone to be slivered. How does it feel to have another hand around your heavily tattooed arm? Not as warm as our past, I assure you.

It's my birthday and I look at my battery hands laboring to tick the arrival of a new day. Even they are deferring for you to ring up and say, ' I want to have you with me. Just like the cold puff of the musk incense, I felt losing myself to you.
I cannot cross under the nose of your men in black but I do cross your mind, in the depth of your dreams.

Your kissable revolver that could kill for me no longer guards me but I fear if it would guard your new venture from mine.

If not me, then none.

© Devanshi Dadwal