D

I yearn, for the tears that never come, for this twisted sense of ache to be gone.

I yearn for the unmarred flesh to tear through time and embrace me,

hoping it would bring the naive girl back with it.

The truth is, she was gone the very moment red stroked her white canvas.

And back shall she never come. Oh through all of reality, how thy heart aches for purity.

I am utterly consumed by this void, the words of my mother searing right through my flesh to

stroke the void how wood strokes the fire,

leaving its trail marred behind for me to conceal for another eternity to come

Padmini C.