Suffer, Oh Mistress!





You melt like vanilla in the essence of the half burnt fireflies breathing into your bare skin. You repel the nineteenth second, for it marks the end of the spiritual journey you’ve been on since ages. The twentieth second might just last forever if you let me misbehave.

 

And the thirst in your rushing blood is a testimony to my severed senses. Why severed, you ask? There is no expression in any language that can paint the tortures you have inflicted upon me.

 

I blame you, mistress. And I am yours to blame. You so shamelessly wore the red and you seduced my inner blue, just so you could blame the purple that is us.

 

You were painfully elaborate and pleasingly thorough, and I was a mere pawn in your game of Kings and Rooks and Knights. I lingered on, for I could move one block towards you and with each step, I would burn a firefly in your wait.

 

And to see you behind a veil of the scented fireflies, it ignites my blood. And I would have you again, and then run for the horizon, screaming your stories. I would immortalise you, only to slaughter you.

 

You are the most beautiful morning of my life and I am just fine with being another ordinary night for you. But you will remember me, as a man who didn’t know how to give up. I will remember you, not as a lover but as a mistress.

 

You said you liked men who didn’t know how to please a woman. And so you brought home a boy who would obey you and fulfil your sick fantasies.

 

And now you lie, panting and gasping for air, forever beautiful. I see a woman, defeated by her whims.

 

You suffer, because no man who ever loved you, could make you reach out for the roof, or could hold you the way I did. Weren’t you almost complete, when in my arms?

 

And now you must see me leave, with nary a word or kiss.

 




The boy inside me begged for mercy but you tortured him, burned his skin with your mascara and turned him into a man. If not for you, there would be no me. And strangely, all it took was one night of endless imprints.

 

I always said that you are my first, but never the last.

 

I may come back to your bed someday when there are no more women left to unnerve. I may come back to relive the most beautiful morning of my life.

 

But until then, I want you to keep falling for men who disappoint you. Little do they know, it takes the heart of a poet and the mind of a psychopath to unnerve a woman of your aura.

 

I shall restrict my words, for I have much more to swallow. I shall restrict my eyes, for they wander shamelessly. I shall leave you on your bed, hoping that you don’t wake up alone. I don’t wish to wake up alone either.

 

Let’s just hope that when we both wake up, this all won’t just be a dream.

 


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