we
the heart feeds off the notion of you. its a parasite it pumps venomous thoughts into me. my pride chisels you off the heart. flake by dead flake i am reduced life less alive. the present cleaves the past bounds. pride can only pry off so much... the rotting remains, the imagined threads now keep us in a sickly embrace. tangled and apart. dark and in limbo. we, do not make a 'we'. a part of us buried slimy, unhappy its hands trying to grasp in two different directions. - Ajinkya Pawar