poetry · prose · published

A few facts about Loneliness

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My loneliness spews from the dark curtains

/ fevering beneath a molted lampshade, running

amidst the hanging treehouse, a sharp blue gong of a temple.

Upon the arrival of next month, my tongue develops a sickness,

                           I sit

I stand

                          I sit

In a nonchalant abrupt way,

          Defying the lucid crispness of nights,

I carry a storm of perforated stars in my womb,

delivering a slick wall of hope, again till the next month arrives.

I have a list of ways in which I take care of myself-

                          Practicing gratitude till the eyes die out of numb shocks,

Watching the surreal wings of birds, till I am being judged

And the process never ends,

Till the process of death is shining on my iris.

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Buy my poetry collection ‘ Crimson Skins’ here- U.S

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Happy reading.:)

poetry

when i die-

you will find ink blurb, parched words,
acoustic in air,
a hot burning potpourri
and my ink romancing with words.
this is what i will leave when i die-
a torn cloth, stinking souvenirs,
words like thick and sick stick to my tongue,
a concave road of anxiety on my wrists.

for i had no people in my pockets,
i had no eye contact,my conversations with stars
made me fall in love with the moon,
and its dark now, nocturnal love.
nocturnal soul.

poetry · prose

You can taste pain like this

Pain. The most inexplicable beauty of humans. Masked and tattered. Orange peel-like surface. As you begin to walk, you feel the blurb of suntanned skins. Lack of juices. ShOrtening of breaths. And there is this pain, gazing your throat. Knuckles break, like the liquids of body evaporating.
Rancid platter of nostalgia. You try to walk away and so you pop pills.
splashing your face with haze- with a spot as black as a pupil.

It has a demure, an oval semblance to shadows. Silk eyed folds. Beneath the nocturnal facets and crevasses, you leak just like that. And you leak until you begin to daydream. Until you are broken and unpleasant to taste. Your juices stink. Your pool of paradise is dried up. Here comes the itch. The itch to bend and smell the distant whiff of loneliness. What does night eat after its done pleasing? Pleasure ends like that.

poetry

Unease

Loneliness weeps and grows like a fungus

in toes and fingernails, with cascading webs of cryptic silence

It shudders like hurricanes,

a mirrored tattoo of wild breaths,

Yellow you may say—

It clasps inside my knee joint

I am born again, inside the pain of lone nights

with a silent bat hovering my windowsill

and my half lit cigarette, peek a boo.

These are stages of disintegration,

body biting body

skulls digesting mucus.

Thousands of pools of madness

Loneliness is a silent killer.

Iron tongues. Levitating.

Circles residing in the swamps of squares,

Total Madness.

©MVS