…and my cries died in the wails of nature’s misery…

 

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I am bound by the cartilage of winter鈥檚 eerily molded teardrops that drop once in a while as if a reminder pinning on my eyelashes saying, careful- my family鈥檚 on the way to cheer you up this dull gray morning.

As if that doesn鈥檛 deprive me of the beautiful things that I could be but didn鈥檛 choose to.

The dawn does weep Christmas wishes and I hear laughter echoing through the plain walls of my house, from miles apart; and the unmistakable giggling of over enthusiastic children.

My heart couldn鈥檛 bear anymore the rhyming of two rhythmic soul鈥檚 catapulting in each other鈥檚 calligraphic aura through rosy hues.

I draw unbroken heart shapes in the breath of ‘nature鈥檚’ long echoing sigh on my bleary window but was easily mastered by another wave of agonizing misery of her wailings.

I lost the last heart again.

And after umpteenth effort, I stretch my sleeves hard enough to cover my finger tips listening numbly to the ripping of my heart. This sweater covering my feeble body from the desecrated cold has seen its better days. So, I ignore her protest in wanting to cover my fingers.

Somehow I feel like a mannequin stuck inside a clock; unable to move without being slapped by the needles.

And you are a parchment paper in which I have written my suicide notes as a will to the roses that have stopped whispering my name in your hands鈥 but you give me them anyways since you can鈥檛 bear the thought of the thorn piercing into your bones, tattooing my tragedy.

Dear silence, bid me farewell to the moon where shadows don鈥檛 backbite and bicker.

Let me paint melancholy in the desolate part of the night sky and die a bluish death鈥 so that I can smile happily believing that I just stopped becoming a story as the ink died in my veins.

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