when you think of men like me don't think of shining fireworks in an empty town, think scented candles smelling like cigarettes and walls full of polaroids of winter in the noon of april, think cloudy sunrays slipping through cracked window panes and missing doors, think of tongues in denial every time we kiss, think of yourself embraced (read: encaged) within poetry slit into our throats. you will not leave. to men like me horrors sounds a lot like winters. curtains in my house are untouched and mothers in our cities can't have their sons resting in their laps while your hand caresses glass like a lover spilling catharsis out of the wrists, I'll kiss you effortlessly than most days. corpses, are in shards of your tender skin, for men like me buried in the ways your voice breaks tears on my cheeks. smudge my name off the pillars of your diary, cause men like me are false alarms no warning signs caged in false realities and our heart is the enemy clan. Evening in Karl Johan Street, Edvard Munch ( Delhi, 2 September '19 ) #talesofanartcollector https://www.instagram.com/p/B-OhhgoFlzH/?igshid=gzba3vpuowde













