Thursday, 8 June 2017
I wanted to disguise myself amidst your confidence hose myself down with your patented charm.id become you , in some sensuos way. I like things to make sense, but we don't. Our love is a frame, everything outside the box. Everything that's bad for your teeth, yet vinegar on your tongue. You made me a promise that day by the beach remember. That you would always tell me I was mad, never buy me roses, always eat the chocolates, and never scribble love notes. Aghast! What have you done? It was Saturday, no it was Sunday, I refused to go to church, and you said "here's a note to Bethlehems baby," I was mad at you then. Mad at world's that were spinning into hostile loops of oblivion, questioning everything like a child confused at the lap of a cemetery. This world and it's Limerick of shadows, nothing neatly folded anymore, pastel colours smudged, young eyes ripe for the poison of a non fiction world. You said I love you in that note, now and forever, so don't be scared of creatures in the dark, there are fireflies everywhere, and as smoke you disappeared.