As I lay in my bed, lonely and in a pool of tears, my breaths kept pacing for every tick and every tock tossed a different memory of you, of us infront of my eyes and when I couldn`t gasp a breath, I woke in panic and threw the clock across the room. Unmatchable is the comfort of that broken clock and soothing is the silence for silence is the sound of nothingness and that`s the feeling running through my veins; of nothingness. Nothing I feel, nothing to say, nothing to hold on to, nothing to go to and primarily nothing to desire for all I desired, I had and it all vanished like vapour, without a farewell. Without the chance of last sight, before the chance of one last touch. Incomplete is to say broken is my heart for it has shattered into pieces that are scattered all over the edge of the knife on which I stand. The rope on which I dance to the music of misery is being cut from one end for me to drop in the abyss that awaits my arrival for far too long I have danced over the clouds with the birds to the cacophony of love believing it to be a great harmony. But now I see the quarrels and the pointed words but didn`t they melt in the night when I looked at her coming to bed all angry just to wait for me to say a few sweet words to change her mind and change the course of today to a happier tomorrow. I also remember the times when she laid her head upon my shoulders and cried and those times too when she laid her head in my lap, my hands in her hair and we talked and laughed all night. What about those nights when all we did was look at each other holding all the love in eyes and smearing sporadic smiles and smickers to acknowledge the silent thoughts exchanged. The memories are too many to carry alone and I need you to laugh on all those stupid words I say, those little fantasies that make you giggle. Honey, wake up and save my disfigured spirit from the hands of boundless grief for this pain is too strong to endure. Oh I see the thorns in the rose we were but I`m ready to endure them for us to indulge in its fragrance but now all I`m left with is the stick with thorns that grow bigger with each sob and the petals have turned black just as you did when you crashed. As you lay on this pyre of wood with a white tulip in your hands, people witness your body burning but I witness my soul burning too, in the flames of grief.