A drop of rain hurtles down my brow
Or sweat?
I know not
I am drenched
It never rains in April
They say April is the cruellest month
I was born in April
They say I am cruel
I feel a sensation. Surprise,
Cruelty screams.
A tingling behind my ears.
It can't be sweat. Must be rain
That can't rein it its unruly drops
And crashes like a chandelier
Dimly lit, now dying
All over my body
It doesn't feel like anything
Of the past. Unpleasant.
It is. At once historical. Pleasant.
It feels like nothing.
Imagine a crash
In vacuum. I can't.
Last spring -
Well April is not spring
May be it is in England
But they still call it cruel -
I built a house
And instated that chandelier
It wasn't necessary
April is bright. Sunny.
Dry. Wicked. Warm, already.
I would rather it were cold
As cold as I am now
I am shivering. I normally do.
When cold, yes. But
Mostly when nervous. With people
In spotlight.
Today, it is gray. Like snow.
Imagine snow.
In April. I can.
I am shivering. As anyone would.
Warmth? Snow? April.
It was a small villa. Concrete.
And wood. And lot of glass
Transparent. The French windows.
My heart? Not quite.
Brittle. The window panes
My heart? Leaden.
Cold. Like snow in April
Guests like warmth.
My April was chilly. Cold to the bones.
I don't like guests.
None visited my house.
Until one. Became permanent.
I realized. Mirrors,
And her eyes.
One and the same.
My home was in the woods.
Lonely. Dark. Deep.
I made promises. I wanted to keep.
So I built a keep inside,
Deep inside, my heart.
My home.
It was warm.
Like a spotlight. I become
Nervous. Shivered
In the warmth.
As much as would melt
The glass of my villa
So I locked it. The keep
And with it, my house
My home. My heart.
April reminds me of many things.
A scent of dust
Entangled in her hair
Clouding her eyes. And my judgement
I can't see through the smell
I am allergic to dust. That always shone
On her face.
It was raining then.
And the unruly drops
Singed the dust from my face.
I could see clearer. My house.
Not her, though.
It rained. The cold reached my bones.
I wanted to run for my keep
Yes, the one deep inside
Myself. So deep. I ran.
I lost my way. In that labyrinth.
I am wandering.
I came out with the sun
And the snow. I had been inside
For more than eternity
It feels fresher. The dirt
Has all but vanished
And I can see through
As far as my eyes would let me
I can't see just her still.
Just a face
In the snow.
I reach our for it, but it melts.
And with it, my villa
My house, my home
I hate snow. I start shivering
I am aware. Conscious. Nervous.
No one can see me. I shed a tear.
A warm drop of water. From my eyes
That are now transparent
Singes the snow.
I look inside myself.
The sun helps.
I see the keep.
I hurtle down the tunnel. Yes the tunnel.
One that I dug up to the keep
To keep my promises safe
And memories. And her.
I can't see her.
I remember the melting snow.
I reach out for the doors.
There seem to be none.
But I can't feel
Obstruction.
My palm goes right in.
And come back right out. Is it there?
I pick up the stone nearby. Feels heavy
Not as heavy as the lock.
Sealed with promises, with more inside. Of more inside.
I am in a quandary. Over my promises
To not break promises. To always keep
But I can't remembers most.
I can't see most. Inside the keep. Those.
I have to break the lock. With it, promises
Who says promises were ever kept
When in a keep, with a lock.
Of promises. I break some.
With them, the spell of cold.
Gushes forth the smell of dust
Wrapped in promises made. Yonder.
Long forgotten now. Rendered meaningless
Reaching for the sun. Slapping me down.
Like those rains in April.
But blunt. Lethal.
I decide to move beyond the gray.
I get a chandelier for my keep
My villa, my house, my heart
And never to lock any
I want visitors. Ones that heal
The wounds of these rains
And scars of these promises
And myself. She tried. I didn't let her.
I let go. She melted. With the snow.
People like brightness
My chandelier gives them. When not silver
I have people. Visitors. Welcome guests.
And past. One that always makes its way
Into my villa, my house, my heart, my keep
When it snows. I resist the urge.
Cold. Reaches my bones.
I don't bolt the door. It becomes cold.
People think I become cold.
They leave me. Alone.
This April, it was windy.
I left the door ajar. The winds ravaged
My villa. My chandelier. My self.
Or sweat?
I know not
I am drenched
It never rains in April
They say April is the cruellest month
I was born in April
They say I am cruel
I feel a sensation. Surprise,
Cruelty screams.
A tingling behind my ears.
It can't be sweat. Must be rain
That can't rein it its unruly drops
And crashes like a chandelier
Dimly lit, now dying
All over my body
It doesn't feel like anything
Of the past. Unpleasant.
It is. At once historical. Pleasant.
It feels like nothing.
Imagine a crash
In vacuum. I can't.
Last spring -
Well April is not spring
May be it is in England
But they still call it cruel -
I built a house
And instated that chandelier
It wasn't necessary
April is bright. Sunny.
Dry. Wicked. Warm, already.
I would rather it were cold
As cold as I am now
I am shivering. I normally do.
When cold, yes. But
Mostly when nervous. With people
In spotlight.
Today, it is gray. Like snow.
Imagine snow.
In April. I can.
I am shivering. As anyone would.
Warmth? Snow? April.
It was a small villa. Concrete.
And wood. And lot of glass
Transparent. The French windows.
My heart? Not quite.
Brittle. The window panes
My heart? Leaden.
Cold. Like snow in April
Guests like warmth.
My April was chilly. Cold to the bones.
I don't like guests.
None visited my house.
Until one. Became permanent.
I realized. Mirrors,
And her eyes.
One and the same.
My home was in the woods.
Lonely. Dark. Deep.
I made promises. I wanted to keep.
So I built a keep inside,
Deep inside, my heart.
My home.
It was warm.
Like a spotlight. I become
Nervous. Shivered
In the warmth.
As much as would melt
The glass of my villa
So I locked it. The keep
And with it, my house
My home. My heart.
April reminds me of many things.
A scent of dust
Entangled in her hair
Clouding her eyes. And my judgement
I can't see through the smell
I am allergic to dust. That always shone
On her face.
It was raining then.
And the unruly drops
Singed the dust from my face.
I could see clearer. My house.
Not her, though.
It rained. The cold reached my bones.
I wanted to run for my keep
Yes, the one deep inside
Myself. So deep. I ran.
I lost my way. In that labyrinth.
I am wandering.
I came out with the sun
And the snow. I had been inside
For more than eternity
It feels fresher. The dirt
Has all but vanished
And I can see through
As far as my eyes would let me
I can't see just her still.
Just a face
In the snow.
I reach our for it, but it melts.
And with it, my villa
My house, my home
I hate snow. I start shivering
I am aware. Conscious. Nervous.
No one can see me. I shed a tear.
A warm drop of water. From my eyes
That are now transparent
Singes the snow.
I look inside myself.
The sun helps.
I see the keep.
I hurtle down the tunnel. Yes the tunnel.
One that I dug up to the keep
To keep my promises safe
And memories. And her.
I can't see her.
I remember the melting snow.
I reach out for the doors.
There seem to be none.
But I can't feel
Obstruction.
My palm goes right in.
And come back right out. Is it there?
I pick up the stone nearby. Feels heavy
Not as heavy as the lock.
Sealed with promises, with more inside. Of more inside.
I am in a quandary. Over my promises
To not break promises. To always keep
But I can't remembers most.
I can't see most. Inside the keep. Those.
I have to break the lock. With it, promises
Who says promises were ever kept
When in a keep, with a lock.
Of promises. I break some.
With them, the spell of cold.
Gushes forth the smell of dust
Wrapped in promises made. Yonder.
Long forgotten now. Rendered meaningless
Reaching for the sun. Slapping me down.
Like those rains in April.
But blunt. Lethal.
I decide to move beyond the gray.
I get a chandelier for my keep
My villa, my house, my heart
And never to lock any
I want visitors. Ones that heal
The wounds of these rains
And scars of these promises
And myself. She tried. I didn't let her.
I let go. She melted. With the snow.
People like brightness
My chandelier gives them. When not silver
I have people. Visitors. Welcome guests.
And past. One that always makes its way
Into my villa, my house, my heart, my keep
When it snows. I resist the urge.
Cold. Reaches my bones.
I don't bolt the door. It becomes cold.
People think I become cold.
They leave me. Alone.
This April, it was windy.
I left the door ajar. The winds ravaged
My villa. My chandelier. My self.
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