A blue attack

Blue, blue.
My hands leak blue crooked blood.
I tried suicide today.
Walked like a ghost/ a melancholy boiler.

a house that leaks.
wax statues going bizarre.
Bizarre like dissolving inside my hollow stomach.
i am here.
i am there.
A loop of curve, falling on the equinox.
burn this society inside my mouth
i wish death today.
I wish pain to kill my pain today.
blue, blue, this body.
tiptoeing through bones of fumes.
A zebra. A succulent spiral canvas.

Paint it dead.

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windows and mirrors

Often, I am a whole another woman.
A woman who sighs with almond breaths,
oceanic concave shape of my face,
something like an oval,’with fingers typing “slow, breathe”
somewhere in this moist air.

This woman is inside my onion mind,
slithering an oculus bowl of chipped nights.
ah, eh, ah, eh
the voices are hollow,
and the dreams are crippled.
They modify too often, along with my neighbour’s talk.
I hear it like a tunnel.

Often, i am complete,
the stem of a leaking shoot.
The colours of my lovers words suffice the pain.
it happens, during the night,
i am not a sex object.
He makes me full.

Often, i just close my eyes,
these eyelids refuse to sleep,
they rather douse its callous mind in pain,
sobbing and sniffing
mirror plays a friend, too.
embossing my pain, love, all at once.


A rescue poem.

i come to places where i can stich a notion to my entire body of chemicals.
Strange things happen here.
A women die each day/ there are ways and methods for it/

a loop of sorrow sinks like an abortion.
And a mist encircles my eyebrow, like a wide corridor collapsing.

i visit places that connects me to a numb mind.
I ask a numb air to swallow my left arm,
for it knows the bends and the geometry.

Often, I collect marbles/ potions/ circumstances that live like a vein inside me.
I fix things.
fixing like a plumber of times.
beneath the archaic tenderness of joy,
a butterfly evolves.

a blue coloured life dripping from my body
my breast,
my entire smouldered body.
i drip and collect myself all alone.
each night.
each night.
each night.

The dissection of women.

_________________________

Words and pic- MVS

 

 

 

As I watch

 

There is color alchemy.
yellow, yellow pavements calling me to collapse.
And there is a bowl, I see reflection, ripples, colors again.
some old memoirs.
a hush and a loud roar.

The wind occupies the ecosystem,
The shapes of water signs as if dancing swiftly.
The sensuous textures I see in the waters.

Crystals, Fountains and a sky full of mirrors.
I bend to pray, to touch it,
that moist lacking words I see,
fluttering kiss of my bare skin,
I see myself like a lantern these days,
a conversation lost and preserved.

There is a formation of orchid on my backbone,
a deep, magenta picture of weeds too.
A color array clinging. I am maybe a star for today.
There is this whole universe wrapping my body today.

Dissolved.
clear.
A smell of yearning.

We are the voice

⁽⁽ଘ(Seldsum)ଓ⁾⁾

i understand that feeling of leaking.
an untold truth from your orange laps,
You breathe deeply, like a concave mirror dropping in shreds.
You wish to be gentle, to be soft.
A smouldering aroma that sits quietly on the bosom, nonchalantly.

I understand the pain and the peeling of throats past evening,
You force a dry smile, day after day on your smitten wrinkled face.
I understand how the walls of your lobby appeared,
lost in ignorance,
where people walked in and they left without a souvenir.

You have many branches, girl
smoke on an ashtray, burning still.
You can feel the hollowness of Earth.
the languid smell it holds, it carries us,
we the dead morbid souls.

I understand that lisp in your backbone,
your words burning inside like a leaf dying,
A point of everything comes for everything.
Accept it, girl, you are the voice.
Watch the sunset, you can swallow it all.

backwards

Autochromes Lumière stéréoscopiques~Image via Éditions Sur la Banquise.

when you step your foot on the thin film of the sheet,
there is a red lampshade, moist and speaking mute voices.
you take a right turn then and you see a pill of god.
you slurp it backward, at the tip of your tongue,
thinking it shall slip softly down in your stomach,
hushing the coiled noises.

you always step backwards,
at night, like dirt, dust.
a morphed arm,
for you were a burden throughout the day
and you sulked too backwards,
life eating the humans.

prayers, chants
my lips curled, bitten like half-lit moon
speaking up things bizarre, backwards,
into the sky that spreads between my white legs.

i finish reading, walking all in a backward motion.
often i survive in this perfection.
i rub my hands, to circulate a thread of warmth onto my cheeks.
i live like that. Backwards.

splinters

 

it’s that time of the month
when the earth blooms like a bride,
and a thumb of life splinters.
fragments of the earth, the moon
like a mahogany autumn kiss,
divides my body into two beautiful halves.

I am a blossom now,
a dew on the foreheads of Gods.
Those gods who created a dimension of soil inside me.
Blueberries that speaks a truth about springs.
I give births, i take births
a circle of life.
effeminate blisters chiselled onto my hip.

I do not take rest like the sun, the moon.
i am a supernatural flower of crumpled anxiety.
So, I gather and gather, sunbeams, lilies
a soft thorn, honey, raindrops.
as much as i can,
to slip it all into my jaws,running
through the streams of loneliness of this fish-shaped eye.