Flowers on Fire

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The subways are empty
at the dead of the night.
Their exits recoil themselves
in the ashes of the ashes.
I whiff a pure smoke of a forgotten memory
and let it breed within my substructured brain.

A graveyard of cigarettes greets my shoes.
The lights go hazy as the winds turn warmer.
Another dull night has been devoured today,
with the help of a fifth of liquid courage.

Darkness needs darkness.
Its an immortal curse,
an undying thirst.
It travels with an agonizing silence
from the corpse of an empty bottle
to my eyes, staring an abyss

I wanted to curse everyone
with my eyes, while slitting their throats
by my tongue.
But I reach home dejected
whirling myself into an abyss
of nothingness.

I try the usual grind,
to type something beautiful,
but the words have escaped my prison ago.
I need a new remorse, to vomit a new grief.
So I set the whole garden on fire
and wait.

© Shashank Bhardwaj