An ode to Porphyria’s Lover

Written by my closest friend, the love of my life in the non lesbian way. This one’s for all those literature classes that inspired us and the poetry that taught us to dream.

I stepped outside to feel the cold wind on my skin,

And see in the darkness of the night,

The twinkles and the light of the moon,

Shining through the clouds clustered over it.

The breeze played with the fine hair on my hand,

Touched my nose and reached my ears.

Then it buzzed and gushed,

Before it told me a story.

A story that beheld my past,

And would circle my life till I last.

A story not much to tell,

But, my friend, if you wish to hear I will begin.

It started when we were young,

When we were spirited.

When there was lust in our hearts,

And passion in our souls.

That was when I fell deep in love,

And saw nothing else.

It didn’t take me long to know

That he was the one, he was meant to be.

All that shattered when the truth unclasped,

He was tied to someone but not me.

So I did what I did without any care

And, my friend, you will find this story is not rare.

Hence, this gloom and guilt ‘cause I have sinned

And I did delight ‘cause I thought now he was mine.

Tried to run and run but could never hide

From that truth which always followed me.

Now pale and cold, refusing to speak,

The moon only looks down on me.

But it asks and haunts me still,

Of the dreadful night of the kill.

– Spandana!

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