Goodbye

How many times have you imagined him walk out that door, one last time?
How many times have you rehearsed to the you across the mirror, one last goodbye?
How many times have you tried undoing the star-crossed love story, episode by episode, one more time?

Did it help?
Does it ever help?

Goodbyes are our favourite mistakes...

The Crucifixion

You pinned me down, one more time
Or, pinned me up, should I say?


Up against the plastered spaces
My presence entwined into yours, somewhat like a shapeless creeper
You all alone
Fighting it out; gravity, differences, hormones and egoes
The armor of chivalry soaked in the shine of exhausted sweatlets


There's something strangely seductive about being owned...

I don't have a story to tell

I don't have a story to tell
I am just a girl at the bar...


Tales of life, of love
Crumbling essays and fragile novels
What's in a story anyway?


Habits
Comfortable and the forbidden
Sultry kisses and drenched eyelashes
Cramped crevices and blank spaces

Paradox of habits?
Habit of paradoxes?

Did definitions ever tell stories?

The Vendetta

tales
of shattered glass ceilings
of battled biases

fancier stereotypes displacing the worn out shine of the ones from a yesterday

for once let's live
off the ideas
of wars
and forced rebels
in the name of good

crusades have never been more than corpses and cripples