Debris

From strangling my heart with your presence

To feeling my own skin with my own fingers

This is what remains

From the glitter of the turbulent youth on my cheeks

To the freckles of despaired youth.

This is what remains.

From loving you like a mad dog

To holding on to that last thread of hope.

This is what remains.

From smouldering in your words and the chiseled body

To struggling to paint a picture of yours.

This is what remains.

From shedding the clothes of what belonged to you

To packing myself up in a rug.

This is what remains.

From laying myself down like the land beneath your feet

To completely giving up on everything.

Now it’s ME that remains.

Jazz

Sturdily always playing in my mind like a trumpet
Giving me sonic heartbeats

I sway in my own arms or in someone else’s

Intentionally perforating your presence in them

I give in after a while

No, it’s not you.

You.

You’re jazz and everything else is blizzard.

But you slip out like the tunes that make my hair dance

Like my play list, like the changing songs

Slow, raging, steady, headfast

I place my fingers one after another

In the haze somewhere tapping the fingertips of yours.

Then I sway again, now on the patio out of their grip and mine

Welcoming you with the wind to seep in my skin.

Stay for a while, in the comforts of my bosom and the excruciating warmth

You have a long journey ahead to forge

I’m just obliged that you’re the jazz

Forsaking me ever so happy, ever so glad.

Hover

Much senile, much true. Best friend I like the long walks with you.

As senseless as it may seem, best memories are those I day dream.

Strolling through the streets of a different city with you I realized some people are here to stay for a lifetime.

Out of the heaps of burnt cigarette buds, puffs from that first cigarette nothing could curb.

Cheating your loved ones comes with situation; stealing some moments away from a busy life comes with misery’s inflation.

 One’s who throw their hearts out, we resist, we renounce. For the ones who hide them in their golden keeps, we stout?

Read, you will get enlightened. Write and you’ll have people frightened.

Be as stupid as you can for the people you dearly like and as cold as ice for the ones you dislike.

Not thinking over repercussions is smart not caring is just a petty art.

Sabotaging someone with your love is called an expectation. Setting someone free with your love is
called deliberation.

Your hair tangled in my fingers is my compassion. My hair tangled in them is mere indolence.

What I have written is boredom’s spectrum and what I am feeling is nothing short of a tantrum.