• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 07

of Stormy nights as consequence to Traumatic lives

Those panes of glass in our window
look bowed, tonight
as though, taking a lengthy breath and finding
no respite to exhale;

like how people’s foreheads can also feel bowed
sometimes, ready – to burst, under
all that repressed pain, we glass over – far, too often

she asked
if marriage can ever be a realistic ambition, for us
and waited

I tiptoed away
Choosing instead to save our window
from choking.

Instantly, everything in our room
went berserk
as all that unfaced anguish of stormy wind
was allowed, in

and tore-up
all that delicate balance, we strived
to preserve
in our love’s: sanctuary bedroom;

by morning
I had it all straightened out
every frame – back, in its rightful place


of Stormy nights as consequence to Traumatic lives

noting, there’s nothing
a bit of hope and sweated tears
can’t fix.

I never quite got around
to interlocking our window's – locks
I delude too easily
and distract, too willingly.

I looked around
with a ready reply,
to her crucial question,

only then
did I notice how – hollow
those empty frames – gaped
on that accusatory – wall.

always state
if she left, it would be
a trace

I see cloudless, sky’s
feel it, rain-on-skin

I should call

I should make coffee

I should call

I should run, I will run: I'm Running!

Thinking, I need to explain
my hereditary, reason
why – I shan't, ever!
Do – that whole marriage, thing…
But here, please
"place your fingers and feel these pulsing veins
of everything good I possess
and all that I have, to surrender
do you feel that barren, frozen – monotone
of – steadfast – beat – unchanging – from – one
stolen – breath – to – its – sipped – lifeline: next
that’s as intertwined, as I can ever get"


was sawed – in half.

A birthday memento
magic trick: trickle-treat
out of season, in Spring

when our triangle of We
became a Nightmare
for just mother and Me;

"so, you see: marriage, is a flatlined——word
for me
but you: I promise, can have everything that’s good
in me."

I’ll plead, for us to retrace, our Stormy steps
brick-up that invasive Window
and share, our morning routine’s sanctity
shoulder-to-shoulder: for eternity...

Reaching, that point
of hands-on-knees breathlessness
from missed-opportunity’s, selfishness
that makes us, reach
for that rewind function
of conveniently timed, regret

finally, forced – to step
into stark reality
for She, always stated
she’d leave, without a trace
and as ever
she’s too: True, to her words.

I will try running, a little more
I can run, all the way back

to that repeating
stagnant dream, where once three
Anchors, made-up
our indestructible: family Tree…

My Dear, you escaped – too well
left me: without a window
for that all important
last chance.

Crazy, how some words
we swallow and repress, to survive
tend to: rot, fester and poison
all those lifeline treasure’s: in our lives…