Crime Scene

Every time you cross my path,
for a second in infinity,
the universe fades into oblivion.
I feel you burn through all the nights
I spent trying to convince myself
that your name isn’t the silent prayer
echoing through my soul anymore.
You look at me now,
vague and distant,
like my broken heart,
is an inconvenience,
you would rather avoid.


So I walk away,
grasping at the last pieces
of my dignity.
I thought I could plant flowers,
in your rib cage that would last
longer than the summer.
But now winter has come,
and my love is a crime scene.
Only ghosts linger here,
drifting between realms,
on their way back home,
lost forever.
And I am one among them.
My love is a crime scene.
The walls reek of lies
and memories caught on fire.
And every once in awhile,
the past flashes in glimpses,
of entwined fingers
and hushed promises,
now long forgotten.
I feel the phantom touch
of the lengths of your arms
wrapped around me.
And suddenly
my love feels like the vacuum
in my chest,
just hollow chambers
with no sign of life.
My love is an abandoned ship,
even false hope evades its path.


~Ahana Roy Chowdry | Edited by Farrokh


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