Friday, January 8, 2016


Like a pretty bow on a Christmas tree
I sit on your lap.
Pouting furiously for the gawky strangers
to feel a little merry.
And for their kids to get a little dreamy.
Draped in colours that laugh at the state of my mind.
Garish pink like the prostitute’s blouse.
If only there was a shade for melancholy,
I’ll wear it upon my sleeves tonight.
It’s not for money or smiles
you say-
Egging me to find a real connection between us.
Reminding me of the nights we waltzed in each other’s arms
 After we sneaked off into the empty corridors of the mall.
Sure, you blushed a little but propered yourself,
as soon as we were done.
While the light inside my slowly faded
to a point, where I couldn’t even recognise myself.
It’s not your fault, you were only here for the thrills, I understand.
But what I fear inside are the days to come.
When you will be folded neatly into their trunks.
And I shall be whisked away by the wind,
In to the Christmas-less winter nights-

I call my life.

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