Anwesh Mohanty
I'm sitting on a chair, overthinking.
About a fishing trip.
The kind Smeagol drowned Déagol,
In The lord of the rings.
Oh, that's the way,
She took my breath away.
The clock’s ominous ticks,
I’m drenching my lips, in magical fluids.
An escape from the reality,
That she left me and our memories in.
I'm setting them ablaze, every day.
With the embers, of a dozen cigarettes.
Under the clear blue skies,
My world is shrouded in mist.
For now under the cover of night.
All hope like daylight,
Long gone, since twilight.
Finding my solace in neglect,
And in shutting out everyone else.
I'm sleeping on the chair,
Dreaming of the day, the last one
In my dystopian paradise.
The day of facing off against,
All the nightmares that torment.
My soul to the core.
I shall breathe free.