World's End on 30 March 2016, 2000 HRS
Is this the way the world ends?
I think as I walk out of the bright room
littered with minute black twigs.
Maybe it is
the faceless, hip-tattooed young lady
with her back to me smoking
by the litter bin. A white screen
unclear for a night sky. Burning
smell and need to see a mirror
drive me to the toilet.
I should have cried, but I don't.
I should have cried, but I don't.
The world shrinks like my head.
I have no inner scream left for the rest
of the year. Two trumpets blow
in place of ears. My hairdresser
must be on a row
with her boyfriend.
P.S.: Written in jest...yet rather biographical.
Untitled
Our house stays empty
Always. Maybe it is the
photosOur house stays empty
Framing your smiles worn
like badges, those little mirrors
of memories.
Nowadays I breathe harder trying
to remember the air I used
to live in. The flowers that you insisted
on the dressing table,
the jasmine freshness
of your shampooed hair on
the bed
wave after wave beating
on the cold shore
of my still eyes in the
dark.
P.S.: Totally fictitious...yet rather biographical.
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