by memories;
heightened senses,
rushing to surface,
gushing blood flows
in her presence,
they shatter me,
eternal dream
never come true
instead pave way
to scribblings
on paper,
thereupon to virtual space.
I’m traipsing
precipitous boundaries,
troubled by trivials,
conscience speaks for itself,
id for itself,
subconscious immersed
in an Interstellar Drive,
of its own.

Rhyme I do not,
for my life,
does not rhyme;
it alternates
in motions and stops
Division of moments,
right in middles.
Gunmetal, duralumin
while I’m afloat
in a peaceful peace.
A doze of poetry,
scribbled in notebook,
a tranquil breeze.

This poem, a journey
from state to state,
borderline chaotic.
Like I said,
precipitous boundaries.

Towards the end
I think of her,
a wave upon my being,
crashing, retreating.
Me, weathering, eroding.
Maybe I AM masochistic
but this will end,
once hope runs out.
This poem runs out


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