Nose-talgia

It had waited for long.

Now the wait was over.

It knew it had to meet,

That very Cold that made its insides wounded.

No it shall not attend this time.

Any air looming large over those idiots.

Nosy enough it had been for long

Prying, and sniffing away the dirt.

Now the Cold was to be its only client, no not that.

A seasonal fling,

With an intense lover.

The ghastly ring had tested its patience

Just once.

The pain had heightened the glory

Of the darkened walls.

Ashamed of their grotesque appearance,

Little monsters were afraid to come out then

For they were not born out of love.

Slimy and ever so sickly sticky they remained.

But it was different with Cold.

Wasn’t it?

That playful, sinful lover.

Like music it pandered

To the evil insides

Shielded behind the ugly children.

The wait was now over, love had come.

They grew.

Who, the children? No, not them.

Pains and sneezes galore.

Little monsters too blossomed

Into long, movable freaks.

Yet remained obstinate to move out.

Enjoying love

soon to wither away.

Masochism meant to procure

A sense of pride,

For the color made it evident.

Yes, that very color of love and blood.

Made the damn ring fall.

Power of love, anyone?