Monday, October 17, 2016

She

She was born
at the age of
antidepressants
and orange skies

Psychedelic pizzas
with double
toppings of lust and
thin crusts of love
garnished
with confusion
and tsunamis
of emotional
breakdowns

Twists and turns of
sex and love and
infatuations
and attraction
with cluster bombs
of cluster fucks
given and taken

Her hair
left on my
floor
and my condoms
left at her
door
while our
memories
dissipated into
thin air

She was a
vivid blur of
a million
colours
smudged together
on a dirty
canvas

A poem
written
while on
LSD

A story
with no
beginning,
end nor middle

She was a
kite
tangled on a faraway
tree

She was a
song
half written
and performed
while drunk

She tried to
counsel the
psychotherapists
and clear
the skies of
pollution

She was ambitious
and she was
dishonest
with herself

She was an
emotional
mess
and I loved the
mess she was

But she was
bigger than just
two people

She was a
healer
and she wanted
to heal the world
of its
suffering

She let go
of her
worldly belongings,
her desires
and her
attachments

She left the
material world
in search of
Enlightenment.

Now,
where she is,
nobody knows.

People are
still prescribed
antidepressants
and the skies
are still
orange

And I am left
heartbroken.

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