TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM
Illuminated by fiction's beam,
I was dazed by your stories' shimmering glitter,
And left the imperfections unseen.
Spinning golden yarn as light as woven air,
You tell tales reality cannot bear.
So when this delicate cloth you make does inevitably tear,
Leaving your wretched skin bare,
you do not care.
While I toss and turn and churn over the thoughts of you that burn deep within,
I know I should speak, but know not where to begin.
So I give in,
to the temptations of blissful sin- a ruby sight, almost invisible in the silver nocturnal light.
And I let it soak my skin,
in its devouring embrace.
I crave -
the rush offered by this red plush,
this shade of a newlywed's blush,
That makes me sway in dizzy delight to the riveting rhythm of the thrush,
Secretly savouring the sweet scarlet reveries painted by its brush.
Momentarily forgetting your touch
and your promises about us.
Memories are imperfect in their ability,
To convince you that those were the times you were truly free.
That same swingset, of rust and dust, you begin to recall differently.
A time spent in the arms of innocent dusk,
Without deceit or mistrust.
You see it in moonlight, its shadow so deliciously bright
But remember it is untrue,
A trap laid out for you when you are blue.
So I know now when I reminisce about the solace I found running on the ground,
I have forgotten our truth.
I don't see me or you.
I'm just tangled up in blue.
Author: Debolina Bhattacharya
Editor: Nathania Do Rego