A Parasite.

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In the alcoholic eyes of mine,

I choked on your divine name

knitting dreams of your dreary arms

I kissed my own grave.

Sordid, papable walks confine me now

Cold hemisphere, stifle my pharynx.

What more I desire from the bleeding roses of lost hope?

I am back in my own dirt now.

Clustered and a parasite of cries.

Β©My Valiant Soul


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my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

69 thoughts on “A Parasite.”

  1. Suffocation and burial; home in the dark, dirt. Your pain, bore in your eyes and written on your skin, is palpable, making heavy the pit in the stomach. The feeling of loss and being lost is evident in that suffocation, that is truly what it is like. Your dark poetry is addictive, like a familiar drug, and I lose myself within it, finding myself buried in the dirt next to you. How well you take me into this beautiful world, Devika.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. You are most welcome, Devika. I’ve missed reading your words and I miss seeing you around. Hope all is well and Happy Diwali πŸ™‚

        Liked by 1 person

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