The words are gunning for me.
Two years of neglected stories have come to collect their dues.
They pull the rug off my feet and take turns drowning me in the inkiest blues.
They stayed silent all this while but now the dam has given away.
Angry and stubborn, each word comes out as a punch and a stomp.
They hound me with the what-ifs and the could-haves,
pestering me to admit that I was wrong.
They reached into my chest and gouge my heart out,
How could you have forgotten us? They cried to me.
After the venting comes the tears.
They pour out of me,
each another stab to my disappointed heart,
dripping puddles all over my torn carpet.
I cry along with them.
Crawling on my knees in regret and gratitude.
They may be terribly hurt
but They still haven’t given up on me.
In company they always run out and tether to the contrary
but alone, they were my friends and accomplices
together plotting down the wistful, little stories in my head.