flux the cactus outwards
stretching from your comatose body of air
Inwards and upwards, the abnormalities
with twigs of mahogany bleeding between your legs,
let it out, screeching your skull
till the brim splits and an adroit sleek barrier exist,
Your body, a stoic compressor
of thoughts and sighs
with longitudinal horizons.
Plain and sober.
Breathe and emancipate like a child with doll skin.
You will enter a circle, beneath your fingernails then,
a point of reverberation. Gulp the blank dot of this life.
This evening is a slender fireplace
burning my wet loss of losing you
a loss is a numb attack until felt
and so i see hums, bells sliding between
out cheese skins,
mellow at the bottom, i am a dream of a lavender,
matchsticks burning curtains of you,
you meltdown from the Alps, and my garden
towards a barefoot blue whisper.
A crescent moon born beneath the sway of pulp thighs
Grapevines, nocturnal in hushed nights
observing our warm apple breaths,
floral segments onto our clothes-
my white skirt and your black pants
I burn in such fields of coherence,
cleaving affection as my second, language-
Oh man, your arms of white clay
waning thunders of a white moon
so soft and musical,
unveiling a lantern of fireflies.
And then I make a sketchbook of you
amidst the pale pink flowers,
your name embossed like a manor of bees.
There under the branches of hardened leaves
between the sordid naphthalene balls of kiss
I found you, like a fallen star.
i watched you each day, with magma, ash
and towers of a conundrum
taking spirit in the eye
the eye of aghast
devoid of luminous rays
i wanted to be sweet as rain
sitting on chairs, harmonic choir.
but you smoked me like a cigarette
you did again and again
with holes in the palms
scrawny li’l feet of parasitic words,
interstice hollow, feeble like a white faded star.
I was a star once
sleeping beneath your pillow
that lush land of dreams
until the skewered paths of dust emptied my eyes,
eyes of dreams and kiss.
I was a star, soaked in the tranquillity of moments
moments like fragile china, fragile ring.
Dumb is my mouth, I guess
Sequin pattern of Crooked Moon,
missing like pages,
like words unsaid by my mother to father-
Oh darling, my dear.
A cadence to spit,
sickle of time and lies.
what if my entire body is stones and drugs
with a sound of silence
pieces missing, haywire mercury temperature
like a slurp, books in the air.
Breaking monotony, scratching my innermost thigh skin
and bleeding like the blood of sanguine valley.
How many steps do I have to perform?
To be lost.
to be a volatile air.
Trees of death define people and deeds
Horrors sit and immaculate in ounces of despair
spick and span, the atmosphere that I carry
or abrasive at times,
I do not know much.
The point is i am bleeding like a lotus in a sink.
and I need closure, sun in the fist controlling myself, sulking my aches.
The eyelids are swollen and broken
with scars running through the table and the wet floor
the point is I am lost and surreptitious
like a dried lemon-peel in the air, aerial.
aerial my body, aerial my legs, a cacophony of that.
The point is, I feel pointless at times, like the sip of wine.
I have visuals down my throat of sleepless nights,
potions and pills
and no face of roses in my garden, holes in the punctured air
i have it all in the box
down my body
down my abdomen
and still its all pointless.
p.s-I am back with my thoughts. Yiee.
i am a woman in a box of shackles and needles, forlorn words such like a bun/
I am old now like a violin of death, blood-soaked up till the cigarettes burn. It’s the womanhood kicking my belly again and again. Spewing moments of despair and solidarity.
I am alms and chains. Coagulation of breaths sinking and splitting, like seeds of walnut..if any.
A stark of pain, there is a pathway in my dining hall going dark in the morning, you should know. Things are occurring inside, with osmosis and hallucinations. Mad is this world if you call me that.
mad is you to break my knee, that night..concretes of lips and mascara.
I am as Old as an Oak, varicose tunnels flipping my body of sparks. I am electrocuted again and again and again. I still not budge and smudge. I am dying perhaps, these cold distilled evening nights hollows bleak
lips cracked..winter talks.
I am dying perhaps.
My motif heart breaks
like a pool of ugliness,
Last night’s love, now a vintage memory
how you mock my love, irritates me.
i revolve like an Earth,
sticking to the mollusc
and i fall.
fall like a group of galaxy
wild animals biting my skin
and I see you nowhere.
Nowhere inside me.
Nowhere uplifting my heavy stoned-arm.
You put me on bed
like an Old Wine to taste
till it drips and bursts.
Torrential streams of rivers of insanity.
I weep like a duck.
I weep like a drunk night.
(Soothing itself with its own light)
I weep and break.
You may ask the perforated sky
with drops of atoms
ripped apart from my chest
like the plunged rose, or honey-nectar.
A void in the sun.
A void in the star. Barren faces of slick dust.
And you will see where you left me.
Lets cut your molten mirror eye
the pain of anguish and beauty.
Paper crux. Purgation and names
Chalice of age,
Eutrophication of breaths.
Missing smiles of Ganges.
A longitudinal filth.
Memories of a cactus walk.
You have the eye to smirk
bodies floating like ghosts
you splinter the seed of skins,
partitions of mind
like a river from Thar.
ravine crux of silhouettes.
Damn! You mirror of molten eye.
Loosely inspired by Sylvia Plath's - Mirror
©Image and words- MVS