The way ,
valleys of
your hazel eyeballs
twinkled with enough
glimmer to light
up cremation of
my splintered feelings .
And when your limbs glided
across the creased fibres
of my shivered clamoring,
which occured in that room with grubby
and blood stained walls , the
walls which still echo the
sweet lullaby of my
dead mother,
made me think you
are the one who's going to
embrace the aculeous scion,
the same scion which
was composed of compelling
yet virulent symphonies .
And I saw my premise
turning into plapability when
you took me in your manus ,
With each note of
your touch symbolise
resonating love poetries .
WASN'T IT ALL GOOD TO BE TRUE?
YOU HUGGING MY WOOBLE SPICULES
AND YET NOT SHRED EVEN A SOLE DROPLET
OF ICHOR ?
and you turned all the melodies of my dubiety in some songs , which sounded like
cries of my mom when
you took out illiberal clippers
from your pocket and kept
fragmenting each string of left
proclivity and endearment in me ,
You took that lingering compelling
bit and rolled it in rolling paper ,
Neglecting the screams coming
from my myocardium , screams
which were begging for that last
lullaby sung by my mom,
you blazed the end of paper and
in one drag inhaled all the whiffs
of deceased credence inside of me.

#Love #betrayal #Hate #cigarettes