In These Late Nights

By Arra Shashank

As awful as it maybe,

This poem or I be,

You're so far away

And I wish you'd never left me be,

Old Monk and Balentine's,

Turn my tears into vapour,

On the day of this Valentine's,

While I write this on my paper;

Laughing out louder and harder

At jokes unfunny,

Just to seem happier,

To the dried eyes,

Dry ice,

That keeps my ice-cream cold,

Along with my half-dead body

In these late nights.

By Arra Shashank