casualties
her fingertips were red,
carrying on them entire continents of cosmos blood
‘he loves me’
and right there, at her feet,
the pile of sacrificed flowers
‘he loves me not’
needed no tombstone.
her lips stained with satiny superstitions
‘he loves me’
slightly pouted,
while sentencing to death each petal.
‘he loves me not’
and in all this time,
those velvety crimson leaves
‘he loves me’
didn't have the slightest idea
of who was the ‘he’ for whom they were dying…
Nikunj
Nice and tender , patterns hued with the contrast that defines the mind and subtlety in beats .
Nice and tender , patterns hued with the contrast that defines the mind and subtlety in beats .
Always well-written, with thought to the flow of sounds. This really evokes the feeling of languid, dreamy destruction caused by the reverie of unrequited love.