Fare Thee Well

His eyes mapped every corner of the town,

As he undressed me lane by lane,

And with a hypocritical touch buried me into the sand of living dead,

I was grasping,

I was naive,

With fingers quivering and mind reverberating the thoughts that smothered me with pain,

And my tongue tasting sour from the hunger of missing myself,

My wall heated with the friction of every shaft of the hair,

And my eyes tired of drowning every memory into the casket of past,

Where I stood with longing eyes waiting for the pendulum to raise up,

My peers pushed me to the clinic which nailed a board of anxiety on my forehead,

And as I started carving figures with those avalanche of stars I arced a part of myself towards that vehement scar,

With no drop of hope, my lips continued to sip tea from the cup where your fingers encircled lust,

Until the autumn dawn woke me up with the cracking of crockery cup,

With yellow plaster of fallen leaves on the anxiety broadcast,

And as I mopped the shattered soul I accidentally whipped out the anxiety from that bulletin board,

And I realized that a spatula of honey, sugar and spice outnumbered those somber starless nights, 

As a left out star returned to its aisle in the eye of the scorpion sky,

And I hug a portrait of this texture of pleasure in his easel and watched the other paints dry .

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