Turmoil

I’m always such a sucker for love. 

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Limbic Pentameter

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Who says one does not sleep in love?
What about the turmoils that exhaust you?

That dropping of my innards
At the whisper of her voice

The engines of my heart
Pumping more blood than there is
Leaving me half hollow
And half overflown
The constant babble in my head
Directing me,
Touch her
No don’t
Kiss her
Are you mad?
Yes! We are mad they say
I am mad
Existential crisis
She can’t be real
She is!
And that ladies and gents
Is how my thoughts start.
It’s like I am a barrel of petrol
And she’s a cigarette,
Carelessly dropping her burning ash.
Losing a part of her but
Taking me completely out!

And you think I won’t be tired after this?

After her sighs raise my storms
And in her eyes I’m reborn
And the skies are full of her fragrance
And her voice is still dancing…

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