Oblivion.

Mixing into

an alloy of

deep slumber

and restlessness;

I wait for

the sky to,

fall down

upon my,

meagre existence.

Following it,

shall be

me covered with

warped blanket,

of blackness

and no holes

in it.

Just a little

distorted around

edges,enough

to smother

forces,

of the id.

No hysteria,

just oblivion.

Darkness

permeating

through my

spine reaching,

to all places

of usefulness.

A deep oblivion

is reached;

aphotic,

poetic.

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Osculate.

Why do you sit

in that corner,

with those red lips

glowing like

ember.

Come to me,

come near

me.

Let us make

a fugue,so

melodious

out of

what is

relevant between us.

You know;

you canĀ feel

my elate senses

radiating,crimson.

Come to me

with those lips,

let us not

oscillate

with worries of

future.

Come to me

sit down,

hold my

face and

just osculate.

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Induratize.

Prick my soles,

and I shall

make a sound.

Jab on my ribs,

and I fall on floor;

will lie convoluted.

Incise my veins,

I shall scream,

and maybe some

tear drops will

mix in the blood

flowing.

But,

love me,

and you

would see

that I just

stand.

Try and

break that

figurative heart,

all I shall do,

is stand.

 

 

 

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Limbo.

Time moved,

like it should.

I moved in space,

because I could

not defy norms.

It happened,

eventually,

memories created,

past recreated,

present ignored.

Where I stand,

in time and space

seems lacking

in life;

Life in me,

and my heart.

I move around in

circles,circling

the same oblivion.

No doors,no windows,

just stuck in

this deep limbo.

 

 

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Black Hole.

Carefully reaching

the aching

muscles of

the heart.

Not surprised

to see,

what has

been done;

The damage,

is mighty.

Rummaging through

the nerve endings,

I find a bullet

shot from

your gun.

I take it

out and

everything

goes blue.

See,what you

did my love,

shot me

blue,

turning

the blood black

rupturing veins

to create

a black hole;

in which

the soul is

consumed

each second.

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Noir.

In the mirror

she looks

at the

insipid reflection.

No colours,

are reflected,

only the

pale outline

of a broken

face.

Hair forming

snakes,

girdled

the neck,

choking it

pale blue.

Black tar,

leaking from

the eyes

making way

to arms,

depositing

and entering

the veins.

She smiles,

the reflection

is unchanged.

A cloth knot,

is lowered,

as seen in

the mirror,

she looks

right through;

the reflection

dies.

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Smokescreen.

The games we play,

how I love them,

and I know

you are fond

of them too.

 

Love of mine,

we are

setting a

bad example,

but you know

we do not care.

 

And we are happy,

you have told

me several times,

how we are better

than other lovers

in love.

 

Because we play

these games.

 

You do it so well,

planting a

harmless doubt

in my mind,

making me

spend all my nights

restless.

 

And you say;you

adore how I

make you laugh

and cry at the

same time.

 

These games we play,

where no one

gets hurt.

 

We stay strong;

fight these

obsolete feelings,

and raise the

smokescreen.

 

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Ink Blots.

I have grown

tired of,

writing about you.

If only,

you can

spare some ink

on me too.

Write,whatever

you want to,

I won’t even

ask you

to edit.

Let the paper

under the platen

come to life.

Which ever

words you

choose, they

shall suffice.

After all, I don’t

want to influence,

your perception

about me.

But write,

write about me,

because I have

grown tired

of writing

about you.

Maybe you,

can write

about my

face like

I do at times,

about yours.

Just write,

anything,

a paragraph,

a line,

few words,

or even ink blots.

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Clipped Wings.

She walked

the surface of

earth,

with her

clipped wings.

Flying was

now a distant

dream.

For what

she thought

were lovely clouds,

in the sky;

were raging

storms.

Some battles

she won,

and some

she could

have won,

only if she

knew that

sky also

had treacherous

attributes.

And now

she walks

the ground,

with tattered

wings which

no one can

mend.

 

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Storm.

Hues of orange

getting covered

up by black

beautiful clouds

with such poise.

Sky as we know,

does not exist

anymore.

Rushed fear

is in the air

amidst the

gallant wind.

Cries of wolves,

are heard

in not-so

distant world.

To run or not,

is a question

on many minds.

Some run,

some embrace,

the arms of

nature.

In only

that instant,

I feel so

diminutive.

Storm is

coming my love,

let us be specks

once more,

lets us be born

pure as before.

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