I went out to burn the world.
Which I did.
But when I came home, I couldn’t burn your purple underwear. That’s the only thing you left at my possession.
There are some of us always waiting for timeless destruction,
and there are some who unknowingly makes bubbles in indifference.
Rains over the constant tides…it’s all blurred over our diluted pupils,
but I could see you. You smelled the sea and sniffed in me like nicotine’s absorption on lungs.
I didn’t utter anything ever.But my body knew you…it still knows you.

It still rains here on this stumbling porch, and all of my fragile couplets are rotten without your bloody Jasmine.
I think I know you better now. I think now I know how you used to make those grey bubbles…those stinky cages of oxygen and stuff.

It’s raining today. You must be wondering somewhere with your big brown eyes,
the mole on your collarbone must getting drenched with someone’s shivering insanity,
but today in this moment you are with me…you are sitting in front of me in your purple lingerie…
And you are still begging me to read you Coben’s suicide letter.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Tengku Azam Shah.

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