Old Friends

The final picture dissipates, then I walk away.
Birds and bees no notice take, bats and fireflies lament.
They know me by my candid craving and
understand my flagellating function.

The bright brute only ever
did see me smile.
With gritted teeth he borrows my
plain countenance.
My eyes widen, my mouth gapes to
understand why;
he burns himself, my body sweats
in parallel?
Just when choked and forced to detest
his mockery,
then selflessly she slips away
and reaches down.
To caress me, to soothe me and
to salve apply.
And to nurse my lacerated
body, wit, heart.

When the final thought designed is when I walk away.
Then the Sun wouldn’t mind but the Moon would rivers cry.
She knows me by my sincerest shadow,
my soberest sorrow she empathise.

Published by Samartha Ingle

Game designer and writer

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