the slow art of breathing bitter

Paradise of Hell

Go away, away, away

In the midnight dark

of blue haze and catastrophe.

Tread my daffodils under your boots,

and never return home again.

But will you do me a favor one last time?

Bottle my pain in your green whiskey bottle,

and take it away with you.

Kiss me with your eyes wide open,

and let me feel that you do not feel anything

for my swollen heart at all.

 The blackbird cries at late noon,

making us forget what we are —

vague memories carelessly recalled.

Our love's not ours;

it's someone else's. 

Like the shade of crimson on your lips.

The color of sunset snatched from the sky

and brushed on your lips 'til they bled

and burnt red-hot:

An inescapable burning ember on my heart

and uncaressed stories lined up on unlit city streets at 3 o'clock.

Don't waste any more time, darling.

Pack your things and set out to

feel the actual paradise in hell.

Don't let your lips wither with the touch of mine,

caressed with regrets and blossoms.

We're mundane and pretty wasted tonight,

screaming and fighting in the dead garden.

We're your last Sunday small talk

behind the yellow curtains.

So kiss me on the bed and run away to paradise where

Hell tastes burning sweet, and

pain freezes in a fleeting blue time.

You'd be the last one to fall in love

in the haze of the drunken daylight.

Your lips are tattooed with my name;

You're with another in the paradise of hell,

And I'm withering away in your daffodil pain.

-would you even remember me at all?

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A/N: Well, I'll remember you if you drop your thoughts and tap the little vote button (if you liked this!)

©March 17, 2023. Sreeja Naskar