I have to write,
I have to write about you.
If I didn't,
It'd only over-weigh on my shoulders.
As if I'm solely responsible for your reminders.
If you'd try and think of getting through my head,
If you'd always smile and once lose the sense of smiles—
What would bring back all that which I've lost?
Will it be the words that came out of my mouth?
Or, the air that is inhaled to pump the blood?
Stuck in-between my teeth are the words that never came out.
In memories of our history that I had created in my head,
In addiction—that writing has latched onto everything unsaid—
I bleed verses in red.
If I'd never write ever again,
It'd only be because I've strolled through the park of my grave;
In black suit and black shades covering my eyes.
‘To be honest’ is killing me instead.
Since, privacy is key to everything I've previously said;
I bury in silence of poetry,
I bury myself in, completely in the mud of my mud,
Before I wake up and practice smiling to strain my heart to brain - everyday.