It never occurred to me that you were a poet too,
You made puns when I thought what you said were true.
You lead me through the stairs you said they'll take me to heaven,
Left me in the mid blind fold over my eyes asked me to count till eleven.
And i start to count.. One and two Three and four,
Bamm! It hits me... The pain growing more and more.
Each count difficult to utter,the hope inside pestering,
Five six and seven I mutter,the blind fold getting regular watering.
I mutter the last counts,future plans of being his mistress,
And I am sabotaged by the memories, lost my ideantity of his enchantess.
And so I call out eleven,fell on the floor blind fold off,
With tears in my eyes fake smile curling my lips I see my toff.
His charms,his fake love,his confidence in me once made me strong,
And the memories make me feel he is my right kind of wrong.
-KASHISH MENDIRATTA
YOU ARE READING
"IMPRINTS"
PoetryEvery word I write is felt.. These poems are the beats generated from my heart❤❤ Every poem has an emotion behind it Which is absolutely personal And not meant to hurt or Exploit someone's Sentiments.. No parts of this publication may be produced...
