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In limbo on a supermoon night

March 26, 2011

Another party, another smoke filled room.

Why does everyone talk all at once? Soon,

There will be unheard words hanging over

My head like it happens to people in cartoons.

 

Another excuse, another guilt-filled lie,

Either I could have stayed on and died

Or I am on the terrace now, free as a bird

The bird who has forgotten how to fly…

 

Another gust of wind, another rooftop,

This ice jingles in my drink like sobs –

Random, hiccup like and suddenly quiet,

While stars twinkle as my heart throbs.

 

Another song on my lips, another bet

On if I will fall down from this parapet,

But I am lying low, away from my ideas

Of self-loathing and perpetual regret.

 

Another faraway footstep, another call,

They want me down to nod as they troll.

I will pander to them with my fake smiles.

You are either a puppeteer or his doll.

 

Another loss of self, another role,

No dirges for my dead again soul.

At least this full moon is real

And that  moonbeam which I stole.

 

Sooner or later, we will all sleep under the same dark sky.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. March 26, 2011 10:35 am

    Could connect seamlessly to this string of thoughts…
    “You are either a puppeteer or his doll.” — how true that!

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