Ghost.

Locked in sleep paralysis

i see ghosts

squeezing fingers gripped on my neck

i fear,

as my cough cracks

like metal on metal

i fear and fear and fear

that this is the end of my story

my sojourn upon this land

oozing of blood, tears and filth

Is it a crime,

i asked the sky

to love someone ?

to feel

and to intertwine

is it a crime to do what even the butterfly knows…?

to be severed by a blade so sharp

it could pierce into the night.

Raging gale.

Loving you was a kind of drowning,

a helpless sigh, for i was a helpless child

in constant rocking back and forth for something that was always out of reach

You did to me, what winter does to the trees,

What the farmer does to fresh fruit in the hands of the taken, shaggy-haired

claws that wrapped itself around my neck,

fingers icy

Tonight, i lay

cleansed from the vile suds

of memories—

a mania furling

at the conception of flashbacks

tonight,

there is a raging gale outside, my love

And it seems,

the angels have gathered,

white and celestial in their gowns,

patting my head down

gently, gently

in a silent lullaby.

Parting.

Now!

at the crossroads

of yesterday and a tomorrow

that holds a promise

Step into that tomorrow

and leave behind

spent ashes of the flames

once ignited to scathe and scar

your soul

LET EVIL DIE.