Skirt

Boxed shell

How real is this fact That I’m out here, able and intact Underneath shelters and shelters of Clothes, blankets and thick walls Preserved in like a specimen Segregated and closed off in a pitch black cellular chamber That’s silent, faraway, and forgotten Awake, with a buried heart that wonders Whether there’s a man in a

Black wall

Driving through the highway Piercing through storms… charging our way Your silluette before I; rocking between my half closed eyes The backdrop, a black wall sky Behind you, I Eons apart So bare

Dark hallway mission

The voice tells me to get into the elevator and to go to a certain floor. I do so as told. Instinct tells me to walk down the hallway. There’s promise of a grand prize; the greatest thing, the highest goal. There’s supposed to be something that I’ve always wanted at the finish. I’m told

Can’t find you

It’s useless; every other emotion that I’m feeling right now. I don’t know where to find you. I’m lost again. I’m seeking beyond the pages printed with dry scientific words. I’m skimming through the shopping catalog plastered with fake beautiful faces. It’s faster than the car ride that can’t seem to fly higher; tastier than

Blue, black, grey, and ombré

She walked over to him and said, “I need to have a discussion with you.” “Ok” he said. “It’s about colors. I hate black. I hate black vehemently. I even hate grey. You know what, I hate blue too. In fact, blue repulses me. Blue is like a traitor color. But I truly hate black.