I liked me better when I was with you.

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  • meghana27 1w

    I want to taste the fresh air again,
    I want to. And I will.
    But that does not mean that I am not drowning right now.

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    Boulevard of mangled ballets

    I have read too many love stories
    Yet, I haven’t grown sick of them
    Strangely, love is still a stranger to me
    Greets me with a toothy grin
    And shakes my hand
    wearing a new mask each time
    He doesn’t affect me like he used to
    I used to breathe him in,
    Hoping for him to be my salvation
    I have written too much for him
    About him; I still do
    but not hanging about hope anymore
    (Hope, which always buckled my knees and sent me spiralling down
    Hope, which always has been the one
    pulling the trigger and spilling my blood)

    Numbness and pain
    No matter how much I harangue,
    They don’t let me free
    No matter how many love letters I write them,
    They don’t tone down their ritual
    Of claiming me wholly
    Of sinking their claws and teeth
    In every crevice
    Of my porcelain skin
    (They form carmine constellations along with the blade scabs that I have painted myself. I have become a wretched artist now, haven’t I?)

    These days, I am not fighting them
    like I used to
    I am giving myself up, willingly
    Letting them mark their territory
    Letting them go through
    with their platonic spell
    Of revelling while I choke
    on doom’s rosaries
    Tied as a noose around my neck
    (I have read too many love stories to be fooled now. But you don’t see me complaining about the white lies escaping your frayed lips, do you?)

    I have been writing
    whatever my mind thinks
    Things that don’t bubble
    past my clenched teeth
    I fail to snatch most of the words
    Scurrying off at a 100 miles per hour speed
    Considering my slow, trembling hands
    Bleeding with bruises and jagged
    (Have I said ‘bleeding’ too many times? Pardon me, I can’t hold back everything here, too. I’m sick of hiding. I’m sick of crying)

    I have been visiting the dead too often
    For, they are a better company
    (Perhaps, they seem like me,
    With deathly pale skin, shaking hands with their doom too often)
    Mouthing brutal truths
    Instead of trying to trap me in
    With glinting eyes and oh-so-sugary lies
    I have been feeling too much
    And sometimes nothing these days
    (Do I even make sense? Oh, that’s not my forte, remember?)

    I am a frenzy of stillness and silence
    I am a whisper, soft enough
    for you to consider me dead
    I am a hurricane
    Kissing your last breath
    Violent enough for you to label me
    your pathway to the grave
    (I feel like I know nothing
    And I don’t even want to know if I know something either)

    I am so damn lost and it terrifies me
    I would never tell you though
    If you read me poems, you’d see


  • meghana27 2w

    As much as I crave to be remembered, I’d rather wake up forgotten the next morning.

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    A M B E D O

    Your mind is a wreckage
    (So is mine, love)
    You’ve seen the earthquakes
    Silenced by the blue waters
    Nothing is seen or heard
    Except for the rise in crashing waves
    Smoothing the rough edged boulders
    Just like that, smoke doesn’t make
    its way out from the top of your head
    The world is oblivious to the
    tangerine flames consuming you
    The grey ashes stain your vision
    Leaving you to stagger into a
    downward spiral of self-loathing
    All you do is bask in lost hope
    Soaking your skin within it

    The messy strings in the mind
    Get tangled into a web
    More complex than any maze
    Like a snare trapping
    a brat of a creature
    You flutter your wings,
    trying to get out
    They break along with you
    Rendering you helpless
    With nothing but a dark silhouette
    To make your heart pound relentlessly
    For, he wears a new mask each day
    One day, he comes with a wicked smile
    And stabs you with a syringe
    Making you numb all over
    The next day,
    he comes bearing an envelope
    Full of fake smiles and unwanted clemency
    to see your greedy eyes
    pounce to grab them
    Just so he could tear it into shatters
    and break you all over again

    And you are left to wonder
    When you had become so weak
    You wonder if you had ever been strong
    When you had placed your
    heart out in the open yard
    With such morbidity
    Out for the crisp blues
    and gusty teeth-chattering breezes
    or for anybody to break
    At any uncanny hour,
    Your eyes are wide open
    (They say eyes are windows to the soul. But I see nothing except a black wallpaper within your red-rimmed eyes)
    Your heart, it’s right on the sleeve
    Dancing in the dim mauve light
    For the whole world to see
    (You might want to drag him in and close your doors before anxiety entwines it’s fingers and takes him out again)

    You want to smile
    (Are you sure if your
    demons would fancy that?)
    You want to be loved
    (Are you sure if your depression
    would ever paint you in love’s bubble?)
    You want to be found
    (Are you sure if any rocky path would lead to you instead of the doom of any passerby?)
    You don’t want to be a sojourn,
    not always be lost in the graveyard
    Of lost and abandoned poems
    Rusting and rotting
    (But where do the storms belong, love? With the debacles, no? Are you sure you’d do fine without the shackles confining you?)
    You want to be preserved
    Like pressed flowers betwixt books
    Like novellas whispering sweet nothings
    silencing people’s demons
    (Might be better if you wish for it when you’ve mastered the art of silencing your own roaring demons)
    You want to be precious,
    something loved
    For all the times to come
    (How could you ever be precious or loved when all you do is wash the sandcastles of hope down?)

    And love, we all want something
    (Something better than what we have already buried)
    It’s not like we all are bound to get it


  • meghana27 2w

    Lend me a smile, no?
    I’m running out of them too soon these days.

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    R E I N C A R N A T I O N

    There is something quaint
    about change
    You used to be terrified of
    the monsters under your bed
    Hiding, crouching
    As if the flimsy sheet of blanket
    would be your knight in the dark
    (Mama used to say the creatures would come crawling out, baring their teeth when you act bad. But you haven’t been anything but bad, have you?)
    Now, they’ve wrecked your head
    But, surprisingly nobody talks of them
    Nobody talks of their
    roars aiming to end your battle
    Nobody talks of
    Their whispers resonating within your head
    saying you’re better off dead

    You have had your play things
    Back in the time when
    smiles weren’t fake
    And when gloom wasn’t around quite often
    When you grew up,
    you broke your strings
    Found beating hearts to play around with
    You belted them up in emotional roller coasters
    And rejoiced in their screams,
    Watched them break apart
    Just like you did, too
    We all play dirty at sometime or the other, don’t you think?
    (Don’t say otherwise
    We are all sinners and they say
    the faster we accept it,
    the easier it gets)

    The thing is,
    we did not grow up to be better
    We grew up, broken,
    veering ourselves to the debris
    Dumped everything humane
    And picked up the strange
    looking narcissism on the way,
    Calling her a way to the greater good
    Smitten by her devilish grins
    Never wondered why she stood there in the murky street, abandoned, no?
    (Beneath the distressed facade lies a tale. One she never speaks of)

    Even now, belching these words,
    I wish for them to be a wake up call
    While all you do is smile and brush past them
    Just like that
    Just like I did, too

    //I find my monsters hiding in the spaces amidst incoherent words oozing out of my tangled mind, the ones that everybody else calls poetry//


  • meghana27 3w

    They say you can’t make it? Spit the blood out of your chapped lips, smile and hold the sword again. Murder them in cold blood and say you made it. Well, that’s how I do it.
    Don’t let the venom feast upon you
    One way or the other, you find an elixir. Be it a bad or a good way that you choose to walk in

    (Something old. Something lame. Something morbid.)

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    C I M M E R I A N L O V E

    I asked him for it all
    The bloodshed and its pungent smell
    The daggered corpses
    and bloodstained machetes
    The dead flower crowns
    Oozing out venom
    Mama says I don’t belong here anymore
    She doesn’t know the tale
    Of my abandoned heart, now dead
    (It’s algid freezing others to death)
    Everybody chants that I am evil
    That needs some strange cure
    Broken hearts can be mended
    But not one hanging between being
    broken and whole
    Moreover, what’s the hero if it
    Isn’t for the big bad villain

    I asked him for it all
    (He loved being loved by a murder)
    The thunderstorms and rain
    The cries of heart-wrenching pain
    I asked him to let his grim reapers loose
    Of the manacles holding them back
    In the deadbeat prison within
    Just so they feast
    Upon the bestowed freedom
    They aren’t too bad, you know
    (No evil is greater than the devil, no?)

    Dada says I’ve gone too far
    Too lost, too broken to be saved
    No, I don’t want no one to
    be my saving grace
    I just want to see the monsters wake
    Through the darkness and
    Past the mortals
    And rule like they own it
    I want it dirty,
    Maybe a deathbed scene
    Crafted in utter misery
    Too late to discern the truth, eh?
    (Now, holding their dead body, they wish they believed in what I said)
    I wanna see the angels choke on the darkness
    Scrape them free of kindness
    Leaving scars within their wake
    Leaving them hurling
    tatters of the good
    On their knees, at my mercy
    Preach that the people they bless
    Are too good to be true

    Well the thing is,
    I took him home to hell
    And crowned him king
    In a ceremony held in the bleak sepulchre
    As the devil stepped down
    upon the arrival of his hamartia

    You say I’m evil
    But, aren’t we all?
    You murder your empathetic self
    To move on
    And I murder the people
    Who tend to hold me down
    I murder the good
    Just to see my bad flourish

    //I ain’t sharing a secret
    Just a tucked away truth
    Known but shrugged off
    Guess it’s too true to take in//


  • meghana27 4w

    The bad always screams louder than the poor, whimpering good, no?

    Kalopsia ~ a delusion of things being more beautiful than they actually are.

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    K A L O P S I A

    Lady in black,
    With downcast eyes
    Often seen all alone
    Do not pity her,
    You might just end up dead

    It flows through her veins
    Profanities and bad bloods
    shower upon her
    Like the storm, in all of it’s glory
    (You say it as if she cares at all)
    She hovers around in the
    uncanniest of hours
    In a cape, amidst the tombs
    In the murkiest of sepulchres
    Looking around for wishbones,
    Of wicked witches probably
    (As if she isn’t sinful enough)

    It’s all she is and all she can ever be
    Ice-cold heart, beats barely
    And the frigid stare,
    clenches the blood veins shut
    As we all mourn for the fallen love
    She attends the funeral
    with a wicked smile,
    Blood staining her callous hands,
    She stinks of murder and anguish
    (Not surprising at all, don’t you think?)

    Scars, she wears them
    With a glint of pride in her detached eyes
    Holding no signs of emotion whatsoever
    Making no attempt to cover up
    her battered skin
    Decorated with scattered gashes
    She sings melodies to lure us in
    Just like the sirens, calling her home
    Her voice,
    It’s rough and guttural,
    as if iron nails
    were scraping her throat
    Yet, we grab what she has to offer
    With greedy hands
    Just so she could feed upon us
    All for the sheer pleasure of having
    Fugitive happiness that she trades instead

    Next time you see her smile,
    Run for your dear life
    For, she might not just stop
    At baring her fangs at you
    She might sink them into your neck
    Without a care in the world
    And taste the copper tinge of your blood
    She might not care
    about her cover up caving in
    Or the horror on your face
    for, it makes the hunt even more enthralling
    The moral of her tale -
    Never trust anyone with
    Dazzling smiles
    For, they’re just baring
    their bloody fangs at you
    The glinting eyes,
    They’re waiting to see you writhing in agony
    The so-called kind souls
    It’s all a camouflage until
    you shed your blood for them

    Her name, it’s pain
    Often dressed in insomnia or anxiety
    She might prefer gloom or insecurity too
    She might even be your favourite song
    or an incoherent poem stuck in your head
    trying to rip you free of everything left within

    When it comes to her,
    we can never really tell


  • meghana27 5w

    Well, what can I say.
    The night has always been cruel to me. No matter how much I fluttered my broken wings, trying to fly again. Just for him.

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    People get depressed when their hearts break. Fragile little things, aren’t they?

    Toss it all aside.
    Well, think about what you go through if you are the bad guy?

    Every time I close my eyes, I drive back to all of the places that I am almost terrified to visit. They hold too many memories. Both bad and good. I find it difficult to walk down the lane as my guilt outweighs me. I keep stumbling and after a while, it becomes too much to bear. So, I crawl. I do not know what I want to spill anymore. The drunk sort of haze is all I know. Maybe when I’m sober, I’d remember nothing. So, this flimsy paper here beholds the proof of my pain.
    Oh, the scars are proofs too. Duh, I keep them hidden. Wouldn’t flaunt them like the golden embellishments. Nope, none of that.

    I have been pushing people away, without their knowledge. I’m scared.
    Scared that I’d tear them apart.
    Scared that I’d be painted as nothing but a selfish villain
    All over again.

    My mouth spills everything, gone far too bitter to stay within. My chapped lips hiss with pain as I continue to pick on the jagged skin. It hurts, yes. You ask me that as if I care. My eyes, they are too cold. Too devoid of any emotion. You mistake me for being rude. No, I ain’t rude. Nor am I a ray of sunshine that you crave for in your life.

    My head is a dangerous place which I did not warn you to stay away from. Hell, I did not even bother to put a warning label saying ‘toxic’
    Why did you have to be so obstinate and kind at the same damn time? Pity, I took you in. Now, for the both of us, I request you to get out while you don’t even give a care for what I have to rant.
    I broke you. Murdered your sanity in cold blood. See, that is the blood staining me. You’ve been asking what the rotten smell is all about and now you know why. I have been feeding off you and never told you. I had been famished until you came. What else would I do? Simple, you became prey and I, the predator.

    You said you loved me and I wrote poems for you. I lied to you, straight at your face, writing poems with scraped knuckles and dripping blood from my arms. Self-harm is not that bad as you see it. I admit, I loved you too. After my mind took control instead of my heart, I knew that everything was soon to be over.
    I am a liar. I know. For, I have written poems about love and how it’d mend the broken. I lied, obviously. The truth is that love doesn’t mend anything. It just makes us feel a tad better for a while to shatter us all over again. No one could ever save me, I know this. Ephemeral smiles and cute polaroids might make lure me in, straight into the trap to fall in love and get broken all over again. Either that or I’d break you all over again and feed upon your pain. I have been hell-bent on creating chaos all around me that now, I forgot what peace looks like. I forgot what happiness feels like. Hell, I even forgot how to breathe like a mortal human being. Love isn’t as easy as it seems. You need courage to fall, deep. You can never love if you have only known how to fly.

    After all of this, you say that it’s okay. It isn’t okay, love. It never is. Don’t try to comfort me with a lie. I’ve done that to people far too long not to recognise it’s myriad facades. Though he is dressed in red, seducing, dancing in the club and drinking whiskey tonight, he might put on black and murder in that abandoned street where you let your cries free. Beware of me, darling. I’m all but the good that you need in your life. I’ve told myself a million times that this is not how I am supposed to be. This isn’t how everything is supposed to be.

    Oh but, this is how it is.


  • meghana27 6w

    Words dance on her callous fingertips
    All day long, playing unknown ballads
    Like Atlas herself, she holds up the myriad tales
    Upon her shoulders while
    they push her down to drown within the black waters
    She never minds it though
    When you love something, nothing ever becomes overbearing, no?

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    The wordmonger’s tale

    Words, playful little minxes,
    aren’t they?
    She thought so too
    For, as the daylight bid his goodbyes,
    They sneak out of her abandoned home
    Wandering off to the meadows
    And lay on the rain-kissed grasses
    They sing poems to the starlit sky
    Knowing that they’d just dissipate with time
    Like lovers and broken hearts
    Like flowers and love-struck poetries
    All beautiful and blossoming
    Just to fade away in no time at all

    Smearing red on her lips,
    She reminds people of love and war
    All at once
    Her sullen eyes mirror her mood
    Just so people label her a murderer
    Or just another broken lover
    She just wears a smile
    Like an unsaid apology tag
    for her silence
    Kingdoms fall and so do the crowned
    She staggers into the downward spiral
    Pacing amidst the ruins
    Of kingdoms that thought themselves eternal
    She collects the broken pieces
    Just to put them together
    And let the world know
    Of the hamartia of yet another ruler

    She likes to walk through the empty streets
    Hearing legends of wilted flowers and
    their rotting petals
    (They were beautiful once, no?)
    Some say they were left to rot
    By two chafing souls in a spat
    Some say they were once on top of the world
    Settled amidst the golden locks
    Of a pretty little lass
    And some say they were wildflowers
    Often smiled at by vagabonds passing by
    Some say they were eyes and ears
    Of a kindling romance
    Oh no, they don’t spare her the details
    Making her giggle and sigh dreamily

    Words make her callow heart a portal
    Each night, they take off
    Calling the paper and ink home
    Scraping her arms and
    Bruising her heart
    Yet, she’s off to another day
    A queen never bows, they say
    Yet here she is
    Witnessing a queen
    Bowing down, laying her kingdom
    And her beating heart, at a man’s feet,
    Taking her vows, she called him king

    There is stardust within
    and the spark, it’s eternal, they say
    But, all stars collapse and burn
    She saw them herself
    Ablaze, bidding goodbye,
    with a heavy heart
    Just as she wonders if somebody
    would write her odyssey as well,
    Words and parchments tug her dress
    Looking at her with hopeful eyes
    She sighs and submits, like always
    Pacing back to her stained glasses,
    jagged skin and black ink pot
    Holding up a ‘writer at work’ sign

    //She has kissed the sinful lips of a villain, befriended the rogues on the way to heaven, saw the angels descend, sung perfidious hymns for the fallen Devil, tended to the hurting heart of a king. Yet, people tend to overlook her warrior heart and christen her feeble.
    Not fair at all, is it?//


  • meghana27 7w

    Go to bed now, darling.
    Wouldn’t want your Lucifer to feel lonely now, do we?

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    F A L L A C Y

    Numbness and pain
    Do they look like dead grey ashes?
    Lifeless and parched
    Hiding tattered talons in their backpacks
    And the books filled with
    Spilled poems and broken sunshine
    Just as a dose, just to lie to you
    that they’re doing fine
    No, none of those
    They doll up, pretty,
    in tuxedos and dresses
    They read you poems, quoting Orpheus
    The ones you can never say no to
    Their jawline sharper than the dagger
    With which you’d pierce
    yourself every other night
    Sharper than the sword,
    the one that Artemis holds
    Their eyes gleaming with mischief
    hide venom deep
    They cuff your soul
    With cold metal ropes
    It hurts but, you don’t mind
    You never do

    They smile and your heart swells
    You deliver to them
    The whole of your soul packed in a box,
    along with a ‘with love’ on top
    You see the fire in their elfin eyes
    Yet, you fail to notice that it awaits
    Hissing and rising higher
    each day to burn you within
    You see the exquisite waters within
    You never know that
    you’d drown in there someday
    You fall deep
    Ignorant of the fact that
    they’d not be down there
    Bowing down, on their knees
    To bestow you with the love
    Or steal your breath with greedy lips
    So, you let them play their role

    They lull your mind to sleep
    And garner your trust to keep
    Just so you bare yourself open to them
    Then, they thrust in with
    all of their might
    While you lie writhing underneath
    With each of their reckless move,
    your love for them fades away
    Your eyes tear up
    with confusion and pain
    Lashing out without a bound
    Fear in your eyes is all they see
    Yet, they smirk making you grimace,
    Gripping what’s left of your lifeless body close
    Oh, the ritual never ends

    You hate yourself for it
    For being weak and naive
    You act in the hatred
    Dousing in the bad
    And don’t say you don’t revel in it,
    Becoming the masqueraded criminal
    dancing on the forgotten street
    Never hitting the sack each night
    You’re taken in with open arms
    By the fallen devils in the rotten bar
    Another recruit akin
    With the same thirst for pain,
    Basking in blood stained skin
    Tell me,
    would Lucifer turn down an army?
    I know that you’re too scared
    to admit otherwise
    Tell me,
    Do you do you still believe that
    Monsters are born?
    (And not made by us, mortals)


  • meghana27 7w

    Don’t think of me as a writer. I am not. And never can I become one.

    Call me a heartbreak. A vagabond. A broken mess. That’d be perfect to label me, alright.

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    A L A M O R T

    Here I am
    Standing on the ledge
    One more step ahead
    And I’d be kissing death
    Would you break my fall?
    I’ll take my chances
    And maybe, die to find out
    (Both literally and metaphorically)

    Here I lay
    On the verge of diffusion
    Into miniscule pieces
    All credit to my traitorous thoughts
    Pulling me underneath
    Stealing what’s left of my breath
    Would you save me?
    From the demon that I have become
    Or leave me to rot
    As I thrive as the royalty,
    As a queen of the darkness
    As my dead flowers and lands chant
    ‘Hail the damned devil’

    Here I stand
    Tearing the flimsy parchments
    Murdering every inch of proof
    That could take me back
    To my sanity
    Perhaps, I’d regret it
    Would you make it stop?
    The red staining my vision
    The greys numbing me wholly
    And the blues drowning me within
    (Please, knock some sense
    into my love-struck brain)

    Here I am
    Breaking down doors
    Expecting to find you somewhere
    Oh love, you are far too gone
    To be reached
    Would you mind injecting
    that in my veins?
    I’m far too obsessed with the past
    To see through the haze
    That there is a future ahead
    Waiting for me with open arms
    Who could ever guess
    if the embrace would warm me all over
    Or shatter my heart, again
    Once and for all

    Life is a sad song
    Dressed as romantic poetry,
    flaunting cheers and smiles
    All mute, until we’re doomed
    Then do we listen to the lyrics
    And see it’s facade
    Dropping off and dripping down
    Like a melting sunrise

    People sprint and hide
    Underneath the walls of their homes
    While I stand there,
    Admiring the beauty,
    gliding down onto me
    And let it devour me as a whole
    I bid goodbye to the world, smiling

    I don’t care if they call me
    too stupid to not know how to survive
    For, when I did they
    labelled me dead.

    (They never know that hope is treacherous villian, calling himself a friend. He lets us live, just to see us die pathetically pleading him to save us, in the end. Oh love, we are far too gone to be saved)


  • meghana27 7w

    Cowardice doesn’t make miracles. You would never find out if his lips are poison without savouring them, would you?

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    O R P H I C L O V E

    His hermetic heart breaks
    a little more each day
    Laced with frost, so damn cold
    and yet, beating just a tad
    For someone who’d probably never come

    People sometimes dodge him,
    In fear of his shards,
    turning into thunderous daggers
    And piercing through their callow hearts
    His eyes soften, once in a while
    Seeing kiddos play
    And listening to the morning birds coo
    Isn’t it proof enough of love seeping through his veins?

    He burns himself into mere ashes
    And rises from the dead, all over again
    Each day, each night
    Just to fall in love with
    the moon and starlit sky
    Again and again
    Isn’t it proof enough of his love peeking through the blinds
    Of his windows through innocent, wide eyes?

    He never would admit
    But, behind his closed doors,
    Lie history’s renowned love stories
    Dusty and rotting now
    Hidden away from the rest of the world
    (Oh, is that the Great Gatsby that we see?)
    Before anybody skim further more,
    He pushes people out of that rusted door
    Slamming it shut,
    Upon the judgemental stares
    And scoffing lips
    Isn’t it pellucid
    That he befriends literature to ease his raging storms?

    You are scared of his frosty stare
    The one reminding you of tragedy and pain
    His scraped knuckles, bleeding
    Remind you of war
    His rough, callous body,
    cold to the touch
    Reminds you of the deathly algid
    You are scared. Terrified, really
    Don’t be, love
    Do you not see the eyes
    that soften only for you?
    Do you not see the heart warming his body
    with each beat whenever you stay
    Stargazing and tending to his raw blisters?
    (That day, you asked him his name. He smiled a little and muttered ‘love-struck’)

    Unknowingly, you’ve mended his heart
    Your smile is his saving grace
    A caressing moonbeam
    upon his cimmerian, chafed skin
    Kissing it alright
    Just this once, topple into his open arms
    I know that you are terrified
    That he would break you apart
    But love, he would rather die
    than see you even barely scathed
    Just this once, take the damn fall
    He would catch you, without a second thought

    (He would promise you that much. Just so you know, he burnt his wings and took a mighty fall. Just to fall back into your arms. Now, can you deny him your love? )