The Ugly Boy

(It’s fiction btw)

Eyes, never dared to look into mine.

He became every picture I saw in the night

The sound of violins I heard, when he cried,

Mourning, at his state of being him,

Unaware of his fortune to be born, fruitful

with an appreciable brain (and a great jaw).

Completely oblivious to the universality of grief,

So so SO self-centred...

But he could lit me up,

Like a Christmas tree.

His tremulous thoughts spreading like

a devastatingly frustrated cancer.

Can’t get him out of my head but

I can read him like a verse written on a snowy beach.

Wallowing in his absurd self sabotage, I became dexter.

Dexter enough to give him the adjective for his decadence.

Like the baby swan that wished to be a duckling.

— Sethu Parvathy