Tonight will be a spectacular display of our emotions
I buy a bottle of wine, a basket of sunflowers
You bring the matches, the paint
And as usual,
All the wrong things to say.
I break the glasses, you burn the flowers
I kiss your tears goodnight
And we head back to the same bed
We call it modern art.
When we wake up
I start from the right,
You from the left
And we paint the walls white
Tonight will be another spectacular display of our emotions.
You buy three bottles of wine, a basket of roses
I bring bigger glasses, louder voices,
And a few more forgotten memories.
The flowers are wet
So are your eyes
You’ve ruined it
They don’t catch fire, they’re drowning,
And so are we.
The house is underwater
And there’s no place to breathe
I’m drowning in my bed
You’re sleeping in the bathtub
Three bottles were too much,
And the walls are still white.
They say a man needed to lose an ear to discover himself,
And another trusted his liquor to lead
the fingers over the tiles of his piano
That beauty comes at a cost
And for years, I was convinced that we were enough.
That every piece of art we make
Must smell like
Smoke, or mattresses, or flowers,
And echo with the sound of
Your voice, your scream, your silence
Smashing bottles, and pouring wine
They’re all the same now.
You tell me our room is built over ashes
Everything exists and disappears
And disappears and exists
The sun rises in the east,
The wind is always salty,
And one day we will also end up
Becoming the ashes being built upon
White doesn’t look white anymore.
Tonight will be another spectacular display of our emotions,
Our grandest exhibition of art
I burn the couch, you drink your lilies,
You throw the glasses, and I-
Your hands are empty
And the walls are missing
It’s 3 in the morning
And I’ve been staring at an empty room all night.
Written by Sushanth Reddy for MTTN
Artwork by Ashirwad Ray