Stars & freckles

The sprinkle of stars across the sky was an inverse of the scatter of freckles across her nose, her shoulders; as the one constellation grew brighter by night, its echo, too, became more prominent, but in darkening the longer it was exposed to day, to the sun.

The stalks of wheat in the mid-August evening light were an imitation of the strands she kept loosely woven down her back; they whispered and whisked in the wind, dancing like the fair flyaways that framed her face.

The languid blooms of yellow trumpets taking their midday nap were like so many miniatures of her in that saffron sundress, flitting around in the summery warmth, teasing him with twists and turns.

The morning storm clouds, gathering heavy and angry in the damp grey sky, patterned those slate shaded irises of hers; the lightning flashes mirrored the blaze of her gaze, and the nimbus nebulosities spilling their tears replicated her own precipitation.

No, he could not escape her.

irreversible

irreversible

that sick-to-your-stomach feeling
of instant regret
emotional nausea
and burning eyes
white hot tears dancing on the edge
of your lashes
threatening to spill over
to scream for attention
body disobeying your mind
a leaden weight fills
your abdomen
the once fluttering butterflies
lay heavy and dead
you can almost taste the vomit
teasing its way up
your esophagus
as you tremble trying
to hold it back
a scorching pain aggressively
tearing apart
your chest
frantic breathing takes over
mind and body synonymously
convulsing in near hysteria
at what you cannot
take back

Love Story (Version 2.0)

We believed it a chapter of destruction.
But oddly enough,
It’s the base of your entire book.
No plot, climax, or resolution,
Just a sick circle of absolute conflict.

Why not throw away the two young heroines,
Rip out the pages about them?
This seems to be a motif for you.
Playing house with the villain and lying the whole time.
Now that makes for a good love story.

We’d gladly watch him drive you mad, if the setting excluded us.
But alas, you made us unwilling scapegoats
Who suffer the consequences of your childish decisions.
Dealing with the plagues of his sadistic mind,
The way they seeped into yours like an infection.

Choosing between us and him,
But always choosing wrong.
You want to feel young; you love him.
You must think you’re living in a romance novel.
Besides, your story is “none of our business.”

But everyone’s read your idea of a fairy tale;
Gossip has made it a bestseller.
Endless betrayal and social humiliation.
We gave you countless chances because we had no other choice.
It’s quite satirical that you even had kids.

Lucky for you and lucky for her,
Your youngest is able to forgive.
But me – I lost all respect for you on the first page,
In the prologue, even.
And the tale doesn’t seem to have an end.