Scraps of Love

Here's a list of things I wrote in my last diary. These are only things I wrote and I found that even I had written them beautifully. I hope they're prophetic.

• We'll travel the world together, stand knee deep in freezing water and be content with the blue lips of the other, even if we kiss and can't feel it. 

(On the back of this, incidentally, it says, 'But it's not big enough.' 'Goodbye.'
I'm sure I was talking about the size of a reason.) :P

• Till then, thank you for making my words move, they've been stuck at the back of my throat for altogether too much time. 

• If he continues his profession, I can never be his, he can never be mine, because I don't want to be loved just half the time. 

(Again, the back says,
'I am NOT second pickings. Fall in love with me absolutely, completely, head over heelsy. So much that you would stop over here before your own home.')


And, here's my

Ugly Poem

I'm scratching the surface
of you.
I'm scratching this skin
of mine.
Maybe, beneath this epidermis,
you will notice
what beats.

If I dig hard enough,
maybe I'll reach a place
that's raw, red and aching.
That'll change the look on your face.

I'll gouge it out, I swear.
Someday you might even believe me.
And I'll show it to you, I swear.
What you should've already seen.

It'll come much later,
once I'm gone,
what I'm looking for.
I'll be lying in a pool of your warm regret.
Fresh from your eyes,
slightly old, from my veins.

Once it does come,
and it'll approach
like the evil evening storm.
that hits you everyday,
bowing you down,
stuffing motes in your eyes
that render you blind,
that you will realise,
you've always been blind.

You'll say things like
'Like a drum baby don't stop beating'
But listen closely,
look at my frayed heart,
and the spatter pattern on the wall.
I've just stopped bleeding.

That's because
your finger blocks
the staccato, now erratic
hum of my heart.

Sit back,
rock me close to your breath
and hope and pray
I stay.