Aftertaste

There was a certain girl in my life.


She was


Complex.

Dark.

Emotional.

Pessimistic.

Mysterious.

Poetic.

Artistic.

Cold.

Playful.


Always a Tease.

Full of Fear.

Composed and controlled.
& yet
Full of Strife.

Fiercely Independent

Obstinately opinionated.

Uncaring of her Lover.



A Catholic
who embraced
sorrow,
and invited
death.


one who kept me captive in my own prison,
whom i threw the key away for.

one who made me apprehend to utter the word,
"LOVE".

-

I have moved on, and yet I have not.

She lingers, but only in my mind.

-

It leaves a bad taste.

And it persists after.


But Somehow...


It cannot be washed off.

And yet it does not seem so bad then.

-

Pass me the Listerine, Extra Strong.

Not-so-sweet dreams.

It seems that every night I spend at home is the saddest night of the week.

When sweet dreams are dreamt, I find myself waking only to bitterness and sorrow.

I would lie awake feeling cheated and anguished and yet confused as to why.


Its really an irony the way this works.