He said it with acid

two colors,

two people.


pretending to be delusional.


pretending to understand.

The notochord,

binding together,not their ribs,

but decades and decades of the shady unfaithfulness

that they’d buried,in the mantle,of the Earth,

not wanting the other,to know.

which brings us back to,

two people

two colors,

that define their relationship,

a series of wants,

and shelves of scripts and Morse code,

that define cheat codes and broken hearts,

And how to socialise,

with people at the bar.

And old cassettes of the conversations,

on lonely,sober nights,

with an unknown stranger,

who met an unknown stranger,

and that brings us back to,

two people,

two minds,

that secretly crawl across the galleries of grey cells,

wondering what the other,would think,of them.

Two weeks of ‘hi’,three,of “wassup”,

and five,of intense eye contact,

when in front of the other,they didn’t know how to react.

A month later,

they both signed a contract,

on taking the other out on a date,in alternate turns,

and soon,things changed,

they evolved,from two socially deranged people,

to solemn,responsible people,falling in love,

falling hard.

Two people,

two choices,

The him,went down on one knee,

in front of a whole crowd of people,

because he wanted them to see,

how much he loved her.

The her politely declined,

because she was unprepared for the compromise,

despite being promised a paradise,

of being provided with everything she wanted,

she refused.

“You’re inhumane”,he accused,

in front of the mob.

The warm,red liquid gushed through the narrow streets

of his system,and fury,greeted him,

when he realised that the chances of him being with the one he loved,was dim,

only,and ONLY because of her,her irresponsible choices,

he wanted to avenge that choice.

Two people,

one broken heart,

zero conversation.

As time flew by,

she became independent,moved on,

but he didn’t try.

Because every ounce of his six foot frame,

quivered,at having been embarrassed,

by the woman he’d loved.

So one fine August morning,

she was stepping out for College,

he parked right outside her house,

waited for her,eagerly,

like the cat waited for the mouse.

She stepped out,white kurta,

faded jeans,the long waves that swayed below her waist,

and her pompous but obsessive grin.

Neurotic,in every way.

But he didn’t give her another,of that day,

when she could look at herself again,

or even stand in front of the mirror,

because a minute later,

the bottle of concentrated acid

splashed across her face,

and ate up her skin cells,

as she vanished behind a hollow,burnt,frame,

that made her look like she was plasticine,

screaming,fervently waving,

in pain.

Two weeks later,

one person,

a relieved heart,

As he wades his way,

Through the very same mob,

That stands there gazing,

At the graffiti wall, with her picture on it.

96% burnt, disoriented,

She didn’t make it.

Nobody knew, she didn’t live to tell

The torment he’d put her through,

Her battle with hell.

He was now a free man,

Light hearted,content.

He’d said it with acid.