Haunts

The raven stares hard through the window, seems intent on reading the rants on the sheet of paper lying on the table as if they were a flavored part of my brain. The raven is a carnivore that feeds on non-veg dishes of fear and curiosity. I clutch at the sheet, fold it and put it in the drawer, lock it, and almost feel my rants have suddenly escalated from being rants to a costly piece of jewelry. The winnowing sound of the ceiling fan is terrible, makes you wonder of each moment that passes. The raven leaves, burning along with the dusk. I stare outside the window like a can of wine that was suddenly emptied by a drunkard's wife and the contents released through the sink-holes. I unlock the drawer, put the sheet in my fingers and start reading. They were just rants, nothing more. Why did the raven..? Oh ****! It's back again, why is it staring like that? Why is it here, now that it's evening? Black and black and black makes me puke. I tear the sheet into shreds of tears, and make a necklace out of it. And I throw it out of the window. The raven is no longer there. The evening stares at me like my past self in the mirror. -Pin Dew (14/05/2017)