A stranger on the phone asking me baby how are you?
I am stunned, there is no reply to my fume…
denial and abrasion of the truth,
lacerations in the heart, and deep gnashes to the wound…
explicit memories like thundering skies,
a million jolted thoughts with a loss of precision, mostly of time.
sometimes a kindred, sometimes a savior, sometimes, a shadow,
Persistent in chaos.
Those are the damages done by a dead man.
A breathing, talking, dead man,
Shallow and narcissistic that narcissism was put to shame.
If there were hugs to share, there would be none.
There is no emotion for the vile already done.
To the darkness already spread, one white spot is trying to dispel.
This soul longed for love. It turned vulnerable to know, to ask , to ponder,
What it feels to have an old man at home,
But to my awe,
There was psychopath lurking in the mind of a despondent.
The pillows know more secrets than a shrink
They know more stories than a storyteller could ever tell.
Hapless mind is a creation of a boorish life,
No, there is no marvel that the devils exist in disguise.
I saw that when hope died, there is a death inside,
Deep inside, may be it was a fracture, or maybe it was a heartbreak.
A lifeless life.
How pathetic it is now to state,
A life giver was the cruelest form of creation, an example.
It seems useless, the tears shed,
the deaths died and one day a sudden emancipation liberates.
Yes it liberates.