When your thought creeps into my head,
like a trespasser who insists on
breaking in again and again,
I’m left to wonder, whether
I’ll ever be able to
of this routine in the past. Each
time we try to erase one memory,
another crops up, like a stubborn mushroom,
blossoming into an unbearable fungal hope
That this time, things will be fuss-free.
No more melodrama, or uninvited
outliers who butt in to leave their
trademark sigil of stupidity
and insecurity, so that
they can laugh
us not being
what we used to be.
I am done with the loving, sirrah.
The territorial integrity of this equation,
has been classically violated and somewhere,
between the vestibule of my heart and my mind
I have buried you, (with all my love), alive and dead.