Have you ever washed your face like a duck? standing infront of the mirror, that speaks an insane story about you? a swamp of retractable wounds. It’s not about the dirt I carry, this emptiness sits and gawks at me, like a mother.
I often watch the pattern of breakouts on my cheeks. Is this how I shall die, slowly like a mole? Ah, even the moon often casts a pneumonic sound on chest, and the heaviness is inexplicable. Salmon- skinned my arms, speaks a tale of afternoon, a silver silhouette tale of remorse. the day when I evaporated and never came back. I am afraid though of my shadow, afraid of my own body organs. These lips may slip like Thames and eyes can be dissolved, mortified.
/ Nobody in this room knows survival/ words are winter to these humans. They are cold, obliterate.
Today, I do not care. I do not care for petrified unction.
In hummus, fingers dipped in maniac voice and mind speaking something demonic, I might be hopeless as they say. Call me elastic, a warped box.
Yes,I lack moisture. A tune to drink and fly. That’s the voice of a woman. A clinging kryptonite photo frame.
Tonight, I shall rip my mind
bifurcating like thin veins
for I see hot wax resting
on my body,
for I am lips and lips of shooting fire
tonight, I shall cry
and vomit my parched pain
like shattered poppies
lying in the coffin
for dark is my home
dark is my poetry
the inside of poetry is me,
and I am dark as Satan’s eye.