How many times have you wrapped your lies
In shards of glass and fancy bow ties?
Then enveloped in glitter, you hid your pain;
And mixed your tears with drops of champagne.
Your bones weakened in the frozen starlight,
Your veins tightened, mocking your fright.
And as beauty comes, in vain it goes;
Often pompous, like the cries of crows.
The tips of your fingers long for skin,
But touch instead a life that is paper thin.
With every fallen, failed façade,
You left unsolved a million charades.
Lost in a rubble of diamonds and dust,
Too naïve to separate love from lust;
A heart that is bound, a heart so profound,
Like a tune that struggles to make a sound.
The remains of shaved off guilt and fear;
Your act is meek, your lines are sheer.
A battle that is impertinent to some,
But a war to you; a war with the Sun.
In the black cloak that shrouds the night,
You found a home that stole your sight.
With one quick jab, the climax came too soon
As if it were not a bane, but a boon.
The metal that pierced, perforated with skill,
Made its masterpiece in your skin.
The cold, hard floor washed its dirt
With the red that colored your crisp, white shirt.
A gasp escaped the space between your dry lips,
Your veins let go of their brutal grip.
The story had ended, the lines ceased;
The full stop placed itself with ease.
And in the next room, within concrete,
Another being stood on his polished feet.
Locking his spite, encased in wooden doors,
Reciting his lines in a voice too hoarse.
Your gasp passed by him, startled his sense,
But he was distracted by the sheets of pretence.
Your body lay stoned, motionless in time,
As he stepped out into that same old chime:
– Ashna Arif