There seems to be A lot of heartbreak Lying around these days. * People collect it in tiny jars, And display it proudly on their shelves As if it is a thing of pride. Some wear it like the most Magnificent of pearls, Shiny and … Continue reading Music.
Nobody told me How hard this would be. Nobody told me That being methodical Won’t help me, Not this time. * That, charts and graphs On how long it takes To get over someone Would be as useful to me As a bicycle is to … Continue reading La douleur exquise.
I don’t want small talk. It gives me anxiety. Tell me about the time you slow danced to the beat of the wind howling in your ears. Tell me about the book you read that made you want to rip your heart out just so … Continue reading Small talk.
We cut open the minutes And pour poetry inside them Trying to immortalize the seconds. We hear a thousand stories In the silence Between the moonbeams. We see a million colours In the darkness that resides In the spaces between two stars. We listen to … Continue reading We.
Don’t just dip your toes
Into the moonless midnight
Of my mind
Plunge headfirst
With abandon
Make your home
Among the dark waters
Swim, until you find
All the secret caves.
Don’t be afraid, darling
For I know
You are no stranger
To the darkness.
Colour me happy with
All the shades
Of your name
And the day the sun
Finally begins to shine
Down on my waters
Will be marked in history
As the day two souls danced
To the whispers
Of a heart
That is broken no more.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
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I drape my fingertips
With ink and paint
That has been
Fashioned from
My feelings
For you
And you,
You become the canvas
I paint on.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
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The odour
Of your departure
Lingers in the air
Your broken promises
Float in front
Of my eyes-
I reach out
And curl my fist
Around a few of them
And desperately shove it
Inside my mouth
But they dissolve
To nothingness
On my tongue
And I’m left
With the taste
Of your sweet lies.
*
Strength comes knocking
Once in a while
But the heartbreak
That always seems to
Linger just behind
The door,
Pushes it away-
I can hear the thud
As my strength
Hits the front porch
Muttering curses
Under its breath
For ever having tried.
*
I spend my days
Drinking loneliness
Like whiskey,
Singing haunted songs
To the sky,
Eating poetry for lunch-
For me, now,
Sunday mornings
Will always smell
Like your absence.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
This poem was selected and published by The Anonymous Writer on their website. You can read it by clicking here.
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Colour me With the tips Of your fingers- Paint my lips With the hope That lingers On your own- Brush my cheeks With brilliant hues Of love- Make me glow With the warmth That runs Through your veins- Wrap my soul With a riot of … Continue reading Masterpiece.
It is said that The skies were once A blur of oranges Mixed with lilacs Sprinkled with vermillions With a pinch of Periwinkle thrown in. Yellows occasionally danced Inviting the emeralds along. Amber streaks Sang across the skies, And auburns would Join in for the … Continue reading How the skies turned blue.
Wanderlust flows Like blood In my veins- My cerise lips Taste like love And heartbreak- My cerulean eyes hold A hundred secrets To cities undiscovered- My cheeks are smeared With a thousand shades Of magic- And my soul Is dripping With a million colours That … Continue reading Wanderlust.
Literature Is My Porn 