Sunday, 26 May 2013


Remains of the being,
Haunting each attempt to relive,
Battered wits, no trails left behind,
Walking this long now, 
The effort seems wasted, 
You seem wasted.

The superficiality of it all,
Excelling, taunting, 
Robbing you off you,
Bartering away, 
The very soul that was touched.

The stolen glances,
All a cliché to her numb mind,
The imperfections, evident,
It shone, he shone, 
Like gold against sand,
Looking of dew, and, 
Smelling of light.

She needed the bartered soul,
For it to be touched again,
Long had she forgotten,
Her deal with the devil, 
Yes, she wept, 
For there was nothing,
That could be warmed in her.

Holding her by the shoulders, 
He grasped the play of her vision,
He parted a part,
Of his being with her,
Walking on, as life gave way,
She had a part of him.

See you around, fellas.
Happy, for once,


  1. you have three tattoos. and you can do such great poetry. how am i not supposed to be jealous?

    stay happy.

    1. Haha. You needn't be. You're a pretty amazing writer yourself!
      Thank you.

    2. but i have no tattoos.


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