i want to die sulking all the lotus,
all the wrinkled hands of my street-
one by one
into this pool of vintage pharynx
Broken lights, broken pigments
i want to choke and rest like sex
with air inside my weak lungs
until my carmine conch shreds.
Cold evening lights
cold sex, cold coffee
cold paintings on the wall,
my room a cold memory-
i want to die choking on asphyxiation of point zero
/Rituals/ / Ceremonies / / Truths / / Lies/
lying under the soft star of detachment,
My body shall drip anxious questions
on You, on this massive Earth of Killers
who do not disintegrate between a television and lips of real.
Burn you— till the sky is pasted with bubbles of aghast.
and so, i will die in the momentum of pervasive stride, galloping.
These words they use are amorphous now
hanging like a loose nail, pricking the souls
fading the eyelids of the moon.
They stink like rubber. They do. They do.
Incarcerated. Wallowing husk.
P.S- I am forcing myself to write as I had already decided to shut down but I felt a little better seeing the love you all showed. I am trying to hang in there.
©Devika Mathur/ MVS