#spilled everything

My love for you is just like the weather. It changes based on the seasons we go through. But it will only ever get more intense.

As the leaves colour change and shades us rain or shine. I know that I want to be with you in all times.

Every storm you feel coming is another profession of my love. It will never go away.

The part That keeps all your air And the part That cages your beast Is the part That makes sure it is guarded From the part Of my predatorial feast

The part You bare with your hands When you lift a part Of your tee So the part Is laid for the taking And a part Of your breast I can see

The part That's a wedge for my fingers Is the part Where my lingering lips Kiss the part Just below your heaving Till a part of them Reaches your hips

When Franz Kafka said;

“It would be better if you didn’t come, since you’d only have to leave again.”

But our very own Ahmed Faraz wrote;

Like the echoes of my abyss have hushed to hear something as potent as the temporal farce of my heartbeat.

I can hear it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each thud a porous plea to the delirium of my blessed mortality.

I cannot articulate the dread beyond my blackening flesh; the screeches of violence or the silence of condemn.

I can feel it.

The relentless pounding of a body outworn by its decomposing host.

A host so vulnerable to the poison of her making.

A host so vulnerable to the poison of her harvest.

A host so vulnerable to the poison of her own flourish.

Sometimes I feel quiet.

Those times I cannot prefer a more comforting corner than the screeches of my silence.