Missing you in the empty living room,
the silence is devoid of your laughter,
and even the punctuation of your expressions…
And.. you took the day offa work, to listen to my coughs,
to keep my germs company…
and even now i wonder, is it possible to love so much and never ever ever get it right?
Absently i forget that that future is written… as if i have a choice.
i love how truth often masquerades under the banner of fiction,
dressing up or dropping its (metaphoric) clothes,
into a crumple of curiosity at the alter of our minds.
Bare butt or naked truth, never teases,
but sometimes scurries in shyness or shame or modesty.
I love how truth inspires,… and sometimes even erodes the fibres of our ego.
Make up does not hide broken hearts,
it merely averts attention from puffy eyes
Breakfast awaits on a shattered plate of sanity
irony surpasses its own records.
My body needs and antivirus update
Disappointment can supersede its all time epic low.