That you came back as a stranger again...

When the light dims in my home at night,

I shiver to know that it isn’t you,
That your shadow is a metaphor of my dark past,

That there are stories, old and new..

That each time there is a twist and turn on the bed
The creaks remind me of the monsters I met after you,

And the demons whom I invited before you came,
And the uneasy nightmares - I can still count a few…

The book I read is a nightmare of all the memories engraved deep,
With commas In the violated folds of my skin,

My mind paints a collage of cobwebs

In between the crisscross of your wrist…

That I dare not turn sides while sleeping
For the monsters of wounds that are hidden might come alive,
That I dare not dream for I fear watching you vanish,

Nightmares, though, are quite rife….

And your retreat - it's like all the shadows I wish I didn’t remember,

Like tattoos on someone’s face gone a little wrong…
That the worst thing is that I can do nothing

That the aftermath did not turn to a song…

I wonder if is it isn’t love

When I worry that you might track the sleepless wrinkles on my face,
When I place a fist on my chest and wish it to quieten up,

And the smile that disappeared without a trace…

That I have learned to smile when you pretend that I do not exist,

When you collide with me on the tree lined street.

I knew that you came back to me one more time,

Though your stranger’s eyes and mine refused to meet…