I am sitting here wondering why you’re peregrinating from the shelter of your home as you ambulate into the rain.
Is it innocence that I am failing to understand as you bypass map to map struggling to make amends, attempting to stay awake, holding your breath, waiting for something to transpire, losing yourself piece by piece as you walk from one place to another, crossing borders, meeting strangers.
I don’t feel alright with this, one moment you’re here and the other, you’re gone evanescent into the dusty lane.
This is the last time. I will say these words.
I remember the first time we fell in love. I was swept into the corner, obnubilating under the bed, asking you to leave.
But they never went away, the demons, we were in a state of deadlock and somehow I forget now, but I seem to recollect a little every time you ambulate away.
You can shine and fall on me for anytime you like, but one last kiss of several years does not fix everything.
I know I don’t mind at all but This is the last time that I will show my face at the tender hall, fine-tuning your torn map, so you can bypass map to map struggling to make amends, attempting to stay awake, holding your breath, waiting for something to transpire, losing yourself piece by piece as you walk from one place to another, crossing borders, meeting strangers.
Then I am out of the place parading into the carpet hoping for a doomsday but then they say, something’s is never due.
Something’s I’ve opted to be but I was in the middle of fine-tuning you a map and I seem to let you allude me into moving with you, expressing you don’t want to be adored or be first in line or make yourself heard.
When I cogitate what you’ve expressed about how you’re aching and breaking, I don’t understand, I don’t perceive how you cannot be mendacious.
Why do I have to go wondering every time up and down the dreadful map if you died in the clouds above if your unclad ashes were consumed by it?
I hoped I had a friend in you, that you ravaged the maps claiming you’re sick of strangers and tired of gazing a million stars you wanted to reach out to.
But I wake up, it’s a bad dream and there’s no one on my side and I was fighting but I just feel too tired to be fighting, guess I am not the fighting kind.
How will we meet our fate when I know you’re a resplendent mess born this way?
Your map meets my end and in a better time maybe you could be my friend.