when humans stink

 

My voice is a purgatory lie.
a solemn inhuman thread of existence,
the voice of this teeth crackling,
fingers going numb during cold shaky nights.
moist, stinking, moist language of nights.

A honeysuckle stung of a tear marking my white body,
flowerless, wavelengths of blurred nights again and again
you come and sit inside my skull,
you will perhaps have boneless maps of jitters.
And humans stink.
they stink like an abrupt old fist.
Mouths of dry saliva. Hollow and hopeless.
A frenzied attack of humans is like the orange peel.
you wish to unveil the skin,
it pokes your eye like a stencil.

And my mind talks to my heart,
in endearment still unknown
of soiled tattered sheets of oblivion.

Scars

Pinterest

People are like stagnate rubber elasticity

with structures clinging our forehead, sweating cold sweat

Impulsive, off-hand contusions of smiles

Like eruption of S W O L L E N E A R L O B E S

A segment of Paraffin wax coating the lights on my ceiling

Mourning and screaming( inaudible noises, inaudible voices)

My windows ache the heartbreak and the candle refuses to lit the other twin

People will cleave to the formation of inheritance: soil

They are always temporary, they shall leave you like the parallax of a stigma.

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®My Valiant Soul

That Silence

I am walking on my own laced path

with frills and throbbing water

Discern the reality, Observe.

Titanium clocks strike the moment of truth

I am as soft as the morning baked bread,

Eyes peeping into your glass carved twists,

Sonder. Hallucination. Expectation. Ashes.

Death shall come eventually,

choking your doors and my windows

What does human fight for, if not humanity?

Coffins: decorated and flowered

I speak veracious lights of thorns,

Concave, convex

Puddle. Soil. Palpitations.

                                                         Silence.

© My Valiant Soul

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Sunday and Breakfast

Here, I speak the truth to you,
the lies of occupation in appealing people’s sorrow
and the green urban dirt— a ghastly deduction of smiles
makes me a crooked vase of emptiness.
Monday: oh, it pours the spikes in my stomach
and churns the pancreas till the heart bleeds.
Saturday: a monotonous tone of soils parching,
producing fungus and mushrooms
Nothing remains, a wall of concrete harmony.
This tongue here craves the stardust of sunshine if any.
Something between moist eyes and moist thighs goes missing,
something between the linings of bricks and charcoal is vintage epoch.
The aprons, the tables, the cigarettes
the Sundays and the breakfast of savouring
my thunder, clasping the pharynx of my scandalous worth
is my favourite.

©My Valiant Soul

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Electric

 

image credits- AvaxNews

 

 

The protrusion of sultry roads
chokes my unborn laughter.
my teeth dropping off the tiniest molecule of red wires
sharp, electric, bizarre.
I doubt your tongue, human!
For chills are deceptive often.

Summons of thunder on my pale lips
now your sturdy words,
collide, oh human!
Your tricks are electric.
Your tricks are deceptive.

©My Valiant Soul

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A myth

 

image credits- – Google

 

 

Surreal spectrum of rainbows
clicking my mind
in the sultry daydream.
A mirage unknown,
Faces floating
roses blooming
till the moonlit occurs,
a failed marriage,
or child marriage
Lavender smiles,
perplexion in minds
Mahogany sturdy furniture to cherish,
and the coffin is just a wood.
oh, human, what a myth!

©My Valiant Soul

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