I fell for a wood work,
I fell for its polish and carves.
I wooed the clockwork machine,
With a heart full of worms, that starved.

With eyes made of glasses,
Face as thin as plates of porcelain.
With painted black lashes,
Giving me frowns, so mean.

With brunette hairs,
Made of furs.
Grips my throat,
Like a cat she purrs.

Haunting dreams,
At midnight hours.
Crumbling hearts,
Like dead white flowers...

- Sharanya Mukherji