Insanity clicks

aww. too cute. Mother & Daughter.

Ambivalent my throat shouts your name, mama
to see you breathing and breathing more
and the circle of killings and abusing entices again.
I heard my dad straddling and maintaining whisky
Burned           Pale                 Chipped
You had it all mama, you had the walnut voluble mouth
speaking iterative hollows of time and its bent motion

You had the emporium of statues and movements.
Life existed in your eyes, and I saw it sincerely
with a callow foot, you walked and created squares
I cursed the moment, life played you
I cursed the moment father abused you
Unruffled      Oblique      Esurient

Mother, I faded myself to colour your skin
burying myself each day to provide you faint candlelight
Behind the shadows of blasphemous engine sounds
I knitted pillows and dreams
This moment is insane now           I might lose myself
mama, hold on…           I will knit my skin once again
to catch your life and slumber of peace.

Hold on,  mama.

©MVS


 

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Methods and Ways


Let me sew your linings of solace
onto my blank, numb fingers
like the gasp of a saviour dreaming
Orange, Red Vibrancy
And I pour you into my wine glass
magenta and red my blood splashes
My mascara, discerning and colliding
and I dance and dance

I think of rainbows and you
where my world floats
like the catharsis of words
And I am Divine and Pious
With Intersperse threads of lust
I fill the hollows of my palm and ankle
I sink into your fulgent walls of ambrosia
The softness I eat and gulp.
This is how I worship you.


®MVS

As You Lay Dying

vintage glamour black and white photography couples | black and white, fashion, mirror, pearls, vintage eyes

How many dark spots do you have,

Lizards and crocodile scream

to see you knitting lips on lips.

Papers mock your hubris hands

Ruffles and hibernation

In the planets of chivalry

in the swamp of lies

I see your lies and eyes,

A corrosion of rock.

I am a piece of molten clock

and

Your dark fingers are bait

like burning of ashes

cold powder.

Burial grounds smirk,

vicious cigars, vicious you

Discomfort intrudes my throat

with swollen ebbs of a horizon

I am a distorted voice

to see your insane games

only

I am more rapturous to

see you dying.

®MVS


 

The Art of This-Body

Sidney Carter (Canadian,1880-1956) Portrait after Dante Gabriele Rossetti's The Blessed Damozel, ca 1906.  National Archives of Canada
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Helplessness running through the haze of clouds,
Hands swinging, liquified skin and slaps of salt grains.
I prick my soul, to check the shrieking
the altitude coincides with a marriage ritual
in the Altar, in the temple
Between the moist lips
The air halts, pause
and my skin kisses my eyes
Conundrum,    Abortion
Throbbing of mind, the paintings of my room cracks now
like the white eggshell
I drink the art of this moment,  quiet now
I rub alcohol and ashes on my face
Indexation and outnumbered faces,
I am colourblind, I am crooked, oh still I count the maths
I run until I fall to melt into the sand
and to begin my heavy footsteps again and again
My body is sinking, catch, catch.
It may fall like a sharp needle pointed towards the foothills
It may rise like shedding of words on paper
Catch, Run. Catch, Hold. Breathe.

©MVS


 

Submit to Blood Into Ink

realityayslum:  “ Fritz W. Guerin - Young woman, c1900.  … via ILL.REF (Tyler Wilde)  ”

Blood into ink is a safe place for all the unheard voices of Survival and brave souls. Anyone who has suffered the cruelty or has been traumatized can submit their writings to the submission page of this bold journal. We would love to spread your voice and words.

Its a place for all the courageous souls who feel the pain, who knows the thirst and want to express it through their voices. Please feel free to share your writings and in the same process read the work of our fabulous fellow writers. Their writings are breathtaking!


A Poet’s Sanity

Tumblr site. This person has collected some really beautiful, old photos. This one is not the best example---but it came up as the only pinnable image.
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Do not cross your doubts in my face of trees
Humongous rocks piling and shattering altogether
I am a cloak of shadow, hiding and humming chants
to release my sanity, blue waters of Mediterranean hunger
Clap my soul, and find the twinings of pieces of glass
Fixated on the roots of my birthplace, insanity clamours.

Reds and Blacks
beneath
the sheets of night,
Liquor and it’s all forms
enticing and questioning
I knock my mind, to check the sanity
and words perch like a thick rope
entangling and pressing my blood,
knots and knots and knots
I check for my sanity now each day
for people melt into my mind, askew drawings
and then question my sanity.


©MVS

Into You.

I ate you like the black spot of the moon
splitting the silence
and dissolving the quietness
in the peaches and apples,
I asked your thorn too
with an ebb blooming onto my eyelid
softness cracks, butter lips
Jupiter, Mars dancing
I ate you still, coating myself with wax
I see you behind the slick cotton sheets
where memories slap my tongue
I see you, Yes…I do.

I thrive and wrap and surrender
my soliloquy white silence
in the flash and soils
and I see still myself sinking deep
into your coconuty eyes.
A conjuncture of Aurora,
Repeat, repeat, repeat.


Introducing New Blood Into Ink Curator Devika Mathur: A breakfast of memory

Taking me in as a Curator of this brave magazine is extremely overwhelming to me.
Thank you Christine.

Blood Into Ink

Devika 1

Sky tripping oranges and bars of star-dust

falling in our frolic skirts.

My sister, I conjured the sustenance of despair and morality

with your apple pie and the almond milk shake.

I churned your spotted skin into my minty breaths

making our bodies glow in the collision of the moon.

I heard mama cry and my cat frowning on the neighbours

when my back was scratched and segmented into tiny fragments.

I remember we did not eat our Dosa or any other fancy dinner for multitudinous days

oh, my sister a week passed by in disconsolate tanned knots of your memory.

And I am still a shivering, paradox of myth.

Bifurcated, haunted.


Devika resides in India and apart from educating English she enjoys reading and writing anything raw and dark perhaps. A hater of hypocrisy and a staunch believer in love she loves solitude and often dances to express her emotions.
Her work has…

View original post 29 more words

About Survival

Watching the movement of emptiness sinking on my nostrils,
A part of Earth tremors inside my Corona of dismantling systems
With crooked pens, I still draw mundane loops of Reds and Black
Planets dance around my white waist
with slumbers of lilies stuck inside the windowsill
I leap and quiver, rebuking my seizure

For the numerous cracks now building under my blouse
Silhouette of Blueberries ruptures somewhere.
My eyelids become heavy and heavy
and the tears as my faithful companion
I sleep and walk and turn and weep.
Oh, my fingers shall be healed
and the knives of blood shall be washed
It shall be done.
It’s how we Survive.


©MVS