Illusion

The lull questions my answers.

The dark wrings out my fallacy.

And I hear the lone bird screeching in the middle of the night,

Seething wounds on the wing,

The cold a choking blanket, a fatal lullaby.

 

The setting of the sun brings the demons out alive.

 

And ever time, I give in.

And every single time I fall.

 

© That Girl in the Fray, 2016. All rights reserved.

The Crumpled Unavowed Words in my Pocket

I wrote about you one night when Hypnos was awake and all seeing.

A night when every corner of my mind was iridescent with your being.

With eyes too alive to rest, too awake to dream.

(In all candidness, a part of me did silently whisper that I was but dreaming.)

I wrote words to you too that night, undoing the crippling fragile seams.

I knit a web of inside jokes and humour, eternal moments and incessant feelings.

I poured my heart into black ink that night and poetized my dark soul,

painted galaxies, captured nebulae, gathered shimmering stars and coloured black holes.

I carved words that would give you courage in covert moments when you become your own undoing,

in enigmatic moments when your shattered faith eclipsed the sun in you.

I etched words that could make you feel at home when you are away and unraveling

like the miles between us are too illusionary and untrue,

for you always owned a part of my soul.

That night I crafted words; you were loved, cherished and wanted they told.

I sculpted words that would make you feel you belonged,

I thought you were a long forgotten childhood song.

I bared my soul to the whiteness of paper that night,

drenched in every emotion that could make a person blind

Blinded by the dust in my eyes I cried that night for it was all a waste.

The right moment to tell you those words never ever came.

You were gone even before you ever left.

Now I think of it, you were never there.

I keep these words with me for they are a lesson I learnt,

as I keep your words, carved out and hollowed in me they burn.

You will never get my words now, or my tears or my soul.

’tis all buried within me now, ashes to ashes; dust to dust.

On Days When You Feel Lost

On days when you can’t see the stars at night

when the demons in your head won’t let you sleep

when the insipid illusion of life turns you into a nonchalant drone

when all is but a barren sunless dystopia

I promise to hold you in my arms

to tell you that you are loved and cherished

that I will be there through hell

I’ll be there through heaven

I’ll be the knight in your night

and the blue sky in your day

And the smell of iron rust of routine and dailyness

will, thus, be marred by the promise of May.

Comfortably Numb

Hath time been an enslaved dove I keep chained in the chamber,

My bidding an edict etched in stone for its survival,

It would fly to the cinematic moments I lack the strength to delete

The photographs I speak to night after endless night,

So I would stop myself from feeling I finally belonged.

To moments so I would hold my tongue from giving away a thousand hidden sentiments.

I would scream at myself, think, think for your mind is but a padded lock,

Think, you fool, for you know it is but a masquerade.

I would cry a thousand tears at once

to not have enough for the single drops that fall for a thousand nights.

I would inflict enough wounds on myself to be numb to the fight.

Numb, for I am numb now to every star every thunder,

My soul embracing the deep slumber.

Beauty is dead, my sorrow is a vacant stinging hollow.

Never Let Me Go

It scares me to death when he puts his arm though mine and we walk into the soiree.

I hold my breath because I’m constantly waiting for the reverie to shatter.

For Cinderella too had her midnight, so shall I in this melancholic story .

I steal a glance at him while walking through the crowd, his ethereal fingers laced through mine.

The brown in his eyes stabs my soul a million times.

I am so in love with him, it breaks me to pieces and I fall apart in a clatter.

He holds me by the waist before even an inch of me caresses the marbled floor.

He knows every movement of my every muscle, every molecule of my breath, every beat of my cracked heart.

He recognizes the look in my eyes, his eyes reading the parchment of unspoken words in my core.

I can sense the gold of his aura drawing in the darkness of mine, turning to an odious grey.

Because that is what we are: mud, and ashes, and rotting vile corpses left unburied in a gruesome fray.

I’m an ignominy, a misfit to the incomprehensible mess his world calls art .

His lips part to say the words I know will melt my fire, sway my conscience for sure.

I refuse to be his hamartia anymore.

I step away from him, every inch of distance a ray of relief, a knife in my heart, a pin in my eye.

Never let me go,” I whisper as a last goodbye.

White Moments 

Reduced to pictures of us you delete from your phone because you don’t want to tell her about me.

Reduced to the ache in your heart when you hear my favourite song play in the store you wait while she tries on shoes.

Reduced to flashback of us when you switch on the tv and they’re playing the movie during which I sobbed into your plaid shirt.

Reduced to the sharp intake of breath everytime someone wearing my favourite perfume walks by you.

Reduced to that longing you feel everytime you read a joke you know I would laugh my crazy laugh at.

Reduced to the sighs you sigh every time you find a copy of my favourite book lying in the bookstore where we first saw each other.

Reduced to the painful memories of the white moments we had that were too perfect to last for more than thirteen months.