Flushed in a flash

When relationships are bombed,

randomly, 

a rendition absent in its monologue,

smoke stinging you,

blood rushing to the head,

waterworks gushing down your cheeks,

the lid on your mouth is tight

and quiet is the contemporary loud.

Do you miss finding out reasons?

Had you been given space,

you still wouldn't talk. 

Why would you?

Wouldn't you preferably 

curl up in a chair larger than life,

analyse some old photographs,

assent to assumptions?

Murmur, "I knew it.",

with conviction.

Emulate the proud sun crushing itself,

leaving yourself in disarray,

pulling the walls of the room towards you, 

colluding with them 

to close in on you 

till the delight of the pink sky 

misplaces its charm

in a closet with no outlets.

A goldfinch without a visa 

is hitting the windowpane

on Christmas Eve, 

moving its robust beak,

chattering emphatically

in a solitary state.

'Tis bitingly cold outside,

the glacier inside four walls

brings no outsiders into its world.

The sun hasn't altered its position,

stern decisions don't condone explanations.

Explanations (justifications for excuses).

Hic et nunc,

expectations are out of stock.

©songbriti