Tempest

People shred me apart, piercing and digging deep into my wounds just to leave me bare for the scars to bleed. They claw the ache that is knitted into my bones. Leaving freckles each time they walk away with the door slammed tight, thereby snuffing out the love. As I plummet deep down into the dungeons, I'm doused with the darkness that camouflages me now. The inventory of curated whims that I had envisaged, turn to wisps of smoke. On nights full of broken screams, I choke at the assault of memories. It jabs me hard, rib by rib, severing the soul and tossing it over the pyre of souvenirs. Ever since then, I inhale smoke for, the cologne that lingers on is just that of ashes. The shards of my heart are nowhere to be found for, it has been broken into innumerable pieces. Almost similar to specks of dust.

Love is a chaotic conundrum- a raging tempest that has the tenacity to adhere to an array of influxes. It ruffles you with such finesse that you eventually make a home out of hearts. One that is mosaicked with stellar notions of love and edged with mist for, it is the tenderness which then guards the brittle cage. I fall prey to the numbness and open the doors which were so long shut. I let you enter through the doors which I had bolted until then. I let you gaze at my wounds for, I'm now tangled up in the trance that love heals. But you find nothing alluring about the patches and leave, with no whispers made and no parting words. And all of a sudden, I find myself in an alley of screeching silence, amidst the relentless bouts of recurring pain. As I wriggle my way out, I sink in a pool of blood oozing out from the slit that you had left. What follows is a cohesive trail of flashback, leaving behind a memoir of torment.