Tarannum Sattar
(Tarannum Sattar is a journalist and poet. Also, she has a cat named Miserable.)
The room still smells of the perfume phial that you broke.
The stench of cigarettes still haunt the blanket.
As I sit in one corner of the four walls,
They all remind me of you.
I want to escape.
But I am a masochist.
You are like a hangover,
That keeps me running back to the bar,
Where you drink,
And I dance.
I confront your indecent eyes,
Indulged in booze,
As you watch me move.
And my exposed skin.
You are my phenomenon,
An exotic mission.
My passion.
Passion, was only a word.
Now, it’s a body.
Living and breathing, In my veins.