On the edge of happiness...

I was 16 when I imagined my first love.  When the imagination dwindled, I thought love exists only in poetry.  At 19, my school best friend told me, I will die without you.  I left him, dreading he would. Years later, he left for greener pastures, with a classmate. At  21, I thought I would die if my 'imagined soulmate' leaves me. One fine morning, he woke me up to inform of his marriage. He said his poetry will die without me. I believe it did, for he found his passion in consultancy. A part of me died that day. I think I made him up all inside my head. Nevertheless, he is still my escapade. And never leaves my head. At 24, astrologers predicted I will die if I marry my then boyfriend. Both of us are alive. Perhaps, we would have strangled each other to death otherwise. At 27, I thought we will die if we leave each other. Yet, I left. Because I never wanted my family reputation to die, irrespective of my life. Both of us survived. With lots of alcohol amd smokes, som

I deal with words all day. And when I close my eyes, tired. Your words play around my mind. Sometimes, I dread If my pen bleeds your words. And handcuff my memories. My words pay my bills. Yet, I let your words take over my mind. Sometimes. On nights when the heart bleeds, More than my pen ever will.