You held my face in the chalice of your hands so passionately that you left scorch marks of your palms on my ashen visage. You were so focused on learning the colours of my eyes that you failed to see the vermilion tears that spilled from the cadaver painted in burnt timber. The sterling smile that you oh so adored, was a silent sob to let it fade and reveal the ruptured facade shoven underneath. The sound of my laughter deafened you to such an extent that you failed to hear the ring of howling plea that escaped my already strained throat. Those locks have been chopped off, isolated from my body forever as they were an augury of factitious glamour and unfelt passion. It pains me to confess that it is not white roses that were my covert cowling but those pale chrysanthemums. Infatuation with my crimsons and goldens brimmed the walls of your cosmic castle so fervently that it left no room for my blues and greys. Look at your mural of us, it preens over our feverish fondness, now look at my mural of us, it stifles over our feigned forgery. You loved so earnestly that it burned down the walls of my trivial cottage leaving it in the wake of ashes. The fiery passion that flowed through your veins, inadvertently set my brittle corpse ablaze. You are a raging fire overwhelmed with life while I am a callous carcass choking under my own ashes. Now all that's left of me is woeful cinders dying in the flames of your dancing inferno, slowly fading from nothing to everything.
Ave Atque Vale
Ave Atque Vale
Ave Atque Vale
No comments:
Post a Comment