Interruptions

As if landscapes weren't enough already,
As if love wasn't too,
My shadowy demons fell short,
And here I write of you.

In a far-off careful bundle,
Your broken promises remain,
In the shape of a shirt,
And humbly stays shun.

I have defeated the ache often,
The nagging ache of you.
Yet sometimes, oh sometimes,
When the burden of memories
Reaches from within,
And spills warily without,
I wear with humility,
The smell of you.

Worms in the Book

You know I stopped reading...
It felt like hands creep up,
From the pages...
Of any book...
Laughing at me...
A mean laugh...
And then,
The words dissipate.

They move towards the margin,
Slowly,
And collide at the centre,
Rashly.

I close the book.
Firmly down.

"Where's yours?" they'd say.
Where are mine?
Perhaps,
The worms chewed upon them.
Perhaps,
They turned into one.