i
spilled letters on your concrete balcony
on the 6th floor
with a light bulb sputtering above my head
streets shimmering with shadows
the road coming to an abrupt end
i scattered my words to share a self, a self self-moulded.
i contemplated brevity, honesty, solitude and love
but
my mind-- always a sinking ship--
i barely remember the colour of your eyes
whose obsession was of death
who won the war and
who wore a straitjacket
and
above all
I’m need of a response
No comments:
Post a Comment