January 10, 2010


I’m picking up the pieces,
confused between ink and blood.
I’m told not to speculate.
Categorically some spaces can be filled,
if you try hard enough.
I’m dusting a couple of unmeasured words,
and a defeaning silence untouched.
I’m corroding all the dusty stories,
that you will never tell.
I’m waiting for a “maybe later”
knowing it will never come.
I’m folding all the memories pleated.
They were only momentary
but I like to exaggerate.
At least my thoughts are elastic.
You leave like always.
I don’t want you to, like always.
But I never really had a say in it.
All I wanted was to show you the moon in my palm.
I am now picking up the leftovers.

- The Lover @ Soul Intoxicated


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