I was better messed up.

As you trespassed through me
Without a forewarning,
Just like my fingers trespassed
Through your clothes
When you were in them,
And weaved a pattern on your skin,
That only you could understand.

Even if
You were always here,
Way before your perfume had faded,
Thoughts of being with you
Hung in my mind like spiderwebs;
My skull apparently was a home of many
Eight-legged predators,
And they continued to sting
On my sanity,
Even more,
When you were desired,
And available.

You were always desired.

Your clothes
Scattered on the wooden floor
Was a constant scenery;

Upon the door-knob,
On fridge’s handle or inside it,
Be it the bathroom tap or kitchen sink or inside coffee maker,
Your underwear was mightier
Than everything else,
When you were not here
It accompanied me
On the couch,
On the pillow,
Been in my coat’s pocket,
Went till office,
It was sometimes upon me,
Other times I was inside it,
How many variations of me it had seen,
I wonder;
Perhaps every
That comes in between
Tears and Semen,

And when you were here,
Your slightly wet thighs,
Glowing in moonlight,
Became a constant object to Moon’s envy,
When they stuck with mine,
With nothing in between our heated skins,
We came and came and came,
But didn’t feel the need to move away,
It was a pure mess,
That you’d created around me.

No more stinking sheets now,
No more taunting lingerie either (I burnt them,)
I’m but an organized mess.

I swear
I was better messed up.

Photo Credit:


15 thoughts on “ORGANIZED MESS

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  1. I must say, your words aping a beautiful illustration of how messes are sometimes what we need or complete us. It’s a great one. I am usually not a big fan of adult poetry but this one stands out.


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