How it ends

Fingers carressing a glass screen 

Heart longing for skin

Prints dabbing away at letters  

Mind fixated on the things that matter 

Sonnets encrypted in inch long sentences 

Yellow orbs of nothingness failing to say what only my eyes can 

Minds like intricately woven silk 

We’re spiders looking to rope each other in 

But the static is clouded by the waves 

Of all we did and did not say.

Percussion

Never loved music 

Till you played in my chest 

With your eyes 

And strung visceral knots 

With your hand in mine 

Never cared much for art 

Till you drew pink almonds 

On my neck 

With the paintbrush between your teeth  

And crescent moons on my back with your nails  

The art was lovely 

At certain times and places 

In a certain order and fashion 

Till your work became too abstract 

For anyone to understand 

But me 

First were my eyes 

Sinatra was your inspiration 

I’m sure 

But no one told you 

He had blue eyes and not blue lids 

You painted red streaks on my lips 

And on the walls  

Made Pollock seem elementary 

I was still falling in love 

In other ways 

On the couch 

On the floor 

Falling everywhere 

Till gravity had my senses 

And i was numb from being your canvass 

Your falling canvass 

It was all fine 

Till the day i fell down the stairs 

Your final masterpiece 

White marble stained in your favorite colour… 

Red. 

The little boy

No place to wander 

Society before self 

Stop whining 

Adolescence is dead

You look ridiculous 

No space for sudden changes 

The antebellum of youth is gone 

Pick up your damn gun, sword 

Anything 

Move. 

Stop acting like a f*cking idiot

You’re an artist 

I realised 

You’re also hungry 

Your collar bones are jutting out 

Let me buy your hunger 

In exchange for an oak desk 

A chair 

Your optical nerves and imagination 

For a mackintosh 

Your brain for pills and caffeine 

The fluid movements of your feet 

For twenty-two inch rims 

Your youthful happiness 

For an appearance of it 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• 

My abdominal muscles are sore from laughing 

Yours are sore from all these tubes

Bless you.

You and a deathbed 

I should offer you coffee 

From Morocco or some other place 

Aww…your butler’s done that already 

Shame you can’t even drink-

LMAOOOOOO 

I’m so sorry 

You’ll be leaving all this behind in a few minutes 

You got what your head wanted 

What your heart didn’t 

I forgot to tell you 

The years go by fast 

Jet-fast (get it?) 

And in the end you’ll be left with 

The child, the dreamer asking you why you shut him out 

Betrayed him

Trod the path everyone else did 

Now it’s just the two of you left 

You HAVE to listen 

To the one you ignored all this while 

The little boy…with dreams.

The Fog

There is a fog in the air 

Laden with dust, mist and memories 

It all hits the back of my throat  

With every deep breath 

I’m catapulted to a time when we were together 

As friends, lovers and things undefined 

A wire mesh

Of fingers and limbs intertwined  

To ward off the cold within and without 

Feelings leading 

Innocence guiding 

••••••••••••••••••• 

There’s a fog in the air 

It hit the back of my throat 

It held the entrapments i thought we were free of 

It hit me…on my way through life

On my perceived way to it 

Stupid fog 

Recalling everything we didn’t.