the slow art of breathing bitter

Left and Lost

I shove through the sweaty crowd—

The somber spotlight in the stirring champagne.

Maroon lips, pink lights;

Like a fairy tale,

shining in the ocean foam.

Laughter, giggles, burnt smoke blurring the windows.

The city's crazy in love, burning in heartbreak—

Dancing are the girls and boys who were lost and left.

Pale yellow cardigans and high-neck shirts

drenched in warm dappled lights.

The electric beats of the rock music—

Drives their bodies insane.

And in any second, they can step into 

the beaches of pleasure and pain.

My eyes are used to these;

My heart isn't: crimson, bleeding broken.

The balcony smells of chocolate and cedar—

Happiness is scarce:

It's fainted into the high drum beats,

Wiggling the pale blue scars.

Shallow breathes under the ink-black water—

A bluish pink caress of my fingers.

It's cold, too cold to gaze more:

The sky's a red mess in the dark brown fossils

Of dead lovers and drowning strangers.

The air—too smoky—in mint and cigars,

I lift myself from the rotten green desires.

The air cools as the skies fade

Into a hundred thousand murmurs and gasps

of purple, pink and yellow petals.

It's too crowded to think straight

in the wild crowd of beating death:

A rush of adrenaline, an army of butterflies, a dash of dopamine—

A funny feeling cries deep down.

All in one, I was lost and left once

The same evening, a year back, in this pretty burnt town.

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A/N: This time I couldn't suppress the urge to post something new. So I got some time, and finally posted something random. The next two weeks are going to be the most hectic ones, so I'll be in a brief hiatus.

What do you think of this poem? Kindly vote (if you liked it) and let me know how your weekend is going.