60 seconds of a Muse

People are not rain or snow or autumn leaves. They don't look beautiful when they finally fall.

Tuesday night.
4:37 am.
I sit,
Alone;
Musing about muses
From the present, the past.
Connecting the dots on my body,
Marks, spots, scars.
17 so far,
Tracing constellations on me.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
The clock whispers,
Piercing through the deafening silence.

.

Yellow lights make me feel alive
On days I surrender-
To darkness.
They tell me,
"You aren't alone".
A pretense of hope.
Bloody fiction.
That my fickle-minded heart
Falls for,
For the 14 billionth time.

.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

It's raining outside,
But the storm's within me.
Raging on, every second.
A shapeless form of ( self )
destruction.
Breaking apart, the floodgates
of emotions.
The yellow lights fade away
Bloody fiction, I tell you.
And now, there's nothing left.

.

I'm not drizzle.
I'm not rain.
I'm not snow.
I'm not autum leaves.
I'm not beauty when I fall.
I'm agony, tragedy, anger, melancholy.
But I'm not beauty when I fall

Fuck romanticising aches
Drowning in verses
To escape; evade?

How fast can you run ?
How far can you run?
How long can you run?

ticktockticktockticktockticktock

Shh.
Stop running.
There are no finish lines tonight.
Finish tracing your stars,
Scarlet, Crimson, Vermilion, Red.
24,
25,
26.

Who needs yellow lights?
It's all hopeless in the end,
It's all just a blur.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

4.38 am.
1 minute.
60 seconds.
Of musings,
And muses.

The ones who left me.
The ones who loved me.
The ones I loved back.
The ones who didn't.
The ones who broke me.
The ones I broke.

Counting sheep never worked for me.
So I count heartbreaks instead.

.

.