The Smoke of my Ribs, my Eve, my Words..

Where have you gone?
The smoke of my ribs
that condensed so easily
on paper, that grieved for
a heart which knows only
to wear out with compasses
caricaturing some destiny;
where have you gone?
The sun is out after two weeks
of cloud and I am tired already,
with the world unaligning itself
from the inertia of my limbs.
I am despising pits and attempts
of people who try to plough me out,
I am despising being seen. I am afraid
of being noticed and the spits
that follow, that my imagination
keeps establishing. I want to believe
that I deserve eyes and ears and lips
for my eyes and ears and lips. I want to
believe I deserve infant fingers
in the gaps of my fist. I want to believe
in my anguish instead of believing in those
of other's that surpass me. And my friend, my
Eve from my ribs- has turned away. I am alone
with a paper and no words to spill even at the edge
of the most beautiful sunset. The pen flinches
in between my fingers. The sun screams
upon my face, as loud as I might as well
but never could. But never can.
The intensity resonates and my soul breaks,
everyday.


There is no love without you,
no loving without you, no intoxication
that helps or destroys without you, no ferocity
that is furious or fickle, no difference between
a minute or an hour. There is nothing without
your possesion of my body and mind. There is
nothing without our unification- without the
emancipation that follows: my words are the
only truth of my existence. And they are
no more beating with my pulses- irregular now.
I want you back. Where have you gone?