death

ephemeral dreams

and clouded vision,

on existentially drained nights

death stands by my bedside

as bewitching as a white jasmine.

I'm cynical and exhausted

I walk through narrow lanes where

I forget to breathe.

there's heavings of ghosts,

pitch black skies,

dead bodies overt.

its ice cold

I'm stumbling-

I'm falling-

there are broken mirrors

and half bloomed roses ;

frozen,they stench somehow.

I'm on the ground

I can't rise

there's no light

torn pages of my diary

lay scattered around me.

little pieces of glass

stab into my heart,

and there's a loud cry.

agony echoes

but it's not mine.

it's my words';

letters and colons

brimming over

a lunatic's poems.

I am only their grave.

;