Burnt pages and barren heart
whisper memories of forlorn nights and soaked pillows,
muffled screams tearing into damp nights,
trying to hold on to that one thread spiraling
into a multiverse of drowsy days painting
a rainbow in a rather grayish canvas of l-o-v-e,
tickling you with thorns of wilted roses
and obscure promises of evermore.

Autumnal desire burns into you, teasing you
with cherry kisses and cold embrace,
leisurely poisoning you with promises of spring,
but glitches are elusive to the blind, isn't it?

You knew flames erupt when worlds collide,
you knew pain as if you birthed it,
but you were a traveller amidst the cosmos,
a drunken nomad in pursuit of h-o-m-e,
so much so that you glimpsed over the fissure
seeping into what you called "Paradise."

And now it lies in the corner like a faulty transmitter,
waiting to be thrown out but never able to,
a remembrance of the fallacy you once fell for,
the thread coiling around you like the curls
of the lady sitting across from you,
her eyes swirling with flashes of your youth,
a sculpture of past,
an aide-memoire of eternity.