Anna

matching pink- stained lips of mirrors Anna, sew her flowers to the hair like an oil-painting smiling, something conjuring about her patterns, the wavelength, the folds all magical maybe. Anna, in her mid 20’s auburn ductile head & hair with sheets of transparent cling film, susurrus body. almost a year ago, a wife & a… Continue reading Anna

Music of pain

a voice is creating a map inside breaking my legs, my arms into the eye of nothingness i see nothing. i feel nothing. my lids are dropping day by day i considered rescuing poetry, the pale fonts, tampered words and it ate me, slurping mouths, Vermillion floating mirrors, stuck to my lips and cracking the… Continue reading Music of pain

Shut down

I find no motivation here, things are abrupt. My writings have ruined I feel. Call it a writer’s block or whatever the fuck, I just don’t feel like writing and my creativity has been literally coiled in loops now. I might close by blog, I might not. But surely I know, no one cares! Peace… Continue reading Shut down

Anna

matching pink- stained lips of mirrors Anna, sew her flowers to the hair like an oil-painting smiling, something conjuring about her patterns, the wavelength, the folds all magical maybe. Anna, in her mid 20’s auburn ductile head & hair with sheets of transparent cling film, susurrus body. almost a year ago, a wife & a… Continue reading Anna

See- through -this- mind

I tried closing my pale eyes, like a water-chestnut dipped in currents and oceans to put some relief on my maniacal themes, running like a sleep- walker. I converge, and dilate like music of light to imbue the monotonous sickening truth of your eyes. The sickening and sickening and sickening spit of your mouth. I… Continue reading See- through -this- mind

Madhouse- body

Your belligerent electric eyes of swamps and tea bags like vapours & death picking my hair strands to dissect me further, oh you, mouth of monster & shadow of half-naked moon. i lie on my bed & count my reverse motionless screams, words, screams here in this room of death & poetry. chapters of skin… Continue reading Madhouse- body

Poetry and Ink.

No, it did not start with the extraction of bones and marrow. Neither, there was an epiphany. I pluck my eyebrow with a sharp pencil, to check the skin underneath. A bizarre. Mockery of a round square pats my naked back, yelling I have something inside my earlobe too. So, I prick my navel and… Continue reading Poetry and Ink.

Last Single Existence

I am silvered and stickered in the blue’s of despair hunting my scalp down to the ankle stain, recidivating, collapsing For the roads are a summer breeze tropical, slapping my coarse breast the humming is repetitive. like insanity clicking Artless. Viscous walks defy my extinction. The roars and shouts, scrapping my last single bit of… Continue reading Last Single Existence