poetry

Apocalypse

When I close my eyes, I feel the touch of your fingers on my lashes.

There is a scent of wet mud and hot sun in my room.

I have no room.

The feeling of your touch goes away as soon as it came as if it never was there and then, right in the centre of my chest a little towards the left, I feel a void that marks it’s existence every now and then.

I lose my sleep over the replayed flashes.

I have neither roll nor camera.

You come to me in the silence of the dark when sleep sits peacefully in my eyes.

You conquer. I am no longer myself.

Your being overpowers my existence and I become like a torn leaf in a storm that you bring and I go wherever you take me.

I have no where to go. You leave.

I dance to the full moon and sing to the sun rise and shine brightly like a fresh flower in the morning making everything around me romantic and exquisite.

One fainting breeze of you.

Spring of life becomes an apocalypse.

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