The Right Side Of Bed

It was 3 in the morning on a Thursday,

Chilling outside, fully justifying December in Delhi.

Mummied in the blanket from head to toe

Tugged to the left side of the bed

Though could spread all over it,

I was struggling to sleep.

After our 4789th fight a day before,

You didn't care to message or call as usual.

And I had finished two pack of cigarettes

And half the pages of my journal since then.

With a cigarette in one hand and pen in the other,

I take another puff of the times we spent together,

Cause yes, they were that toxic.

I bleed down almost every possible jargon detailing about the fights

Growing hideous with time,

Your affection turning into excuses

And your availability turning into lovemaking sessions,

Post which you'd toss and doze off towards the right side of the bed,

Like a dream catcher seized your nightmare

And threw it on the left side.

I cry hugging deep into it, 

Thanks for the gift.

Your face that looked more disinterested talking to me

Than when we met for the first time.

I wonder how our relationship 

Resembles so much to your premature aging skin

And very little to our love that I imagined to exist.

And as I am all burned out and so is the cigarette,

I write with leftover ashes of my broken heart

On the wrinkles of the bedsheet, 

That resembles the ones on your face.

I guess that explains my tight grip on

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it.

Cause I want to hurt them with my words,

Since my heart never could.

Just when I am done punishing my bedsheet 

For your offenses, my phone beeped

With your name, full name (finally changed it) flashing on the screen,

I don't feel like picking it up.

Though I know you would be standing outside my door, 

With a smirk on your face and sorry on your lips

You too ran out of your cigarette, didn't you?

I'll let it ring till it goes off.

I am still waiting for it to ring one or two or a million more times,

Until your smirk turns into anger

And your lips no longer savor sorry 

But more unkind words you actually feel for me.

I want your legs to chill in the icy wind,

If that's what it takes for you to recognize the coldness of your presence you inflicted on me, all this while

until your toes turn blue, 

Like the bruises of your words on my soul.

As I said, I want to hurt you big time,

One way or the other,

So much so, you realize that you owe me one genuine heart this time.

Just in case, I've placed a ladder leading up to my room. 

Because, deep down, I know you will never put in the effort to climb it.

And even if you do, just know,

That this time, I have changed my mind,

Your name on my phone,

And most importantly, the side of the bed,

Alongside sleeps your nightmares on the left.

Thanks again for the gift.