Wednesday, March 30, 2016

...Yet Rather Biographical.

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.
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.

Our house stays empty
Always. Maybe it is the photos
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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