Elis has a paper ball texture, crisp and crumpled veins of love. Her nakedness is the march towards the fruits of springs, countless motions of time. Her liquid lips, cryptic to herself. She neatly defies the existence of frailty.
The frailty of summer’s hope and frailty of meadows spring.
The heaviness of swamp and linguistic seizures weighs her down, sinking her hand and arm. Missing parts of reality. A cocoon of dissatisfaction. A body of uncountable heavy eyelids. Elis does not speak of her curves and eyes, she dedicates her body and sacrifices her tongue. Rituals of greys and blacks.
Elis curls up her lips like a slice of burning orange peel. Her breaths, heavy, dissected, summoned like a stone eating her tongue. Her thigh eating her faith.
Elis craves and prays. For solitude to be her only stay.
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 pain
on the floor for you to dance,
it’s a pattern.
it kills and kills
obdurate music of pain.
such coldness slipping,
stopping the clock of gods,
speaking or praying.
this coldness is chilling
with a hint of a lone heart.
i die here.
Photographs are blurred memories,
of faked, chipped, plastered walls
cracking like walnuts,
eating its own body-
Walls & bones dissolving
inside the tooth of dust,
memories can be fatal,
if picturized or vandalised.
All memories collide inside flaky cheeks
producing abhorrence of stars,
like a parasite
to your naked soul
& exposes the flimsy spots
of your entire galaxy.
Like the black spots
of a beautiful bird.
Wax droplets memories afloat.
do you remember the blues
penetrating my veins
of penumbra stoic
your cutting voice of thunder
like a thorn poking
my chiselled neck & colour
my white skin turning weird
a stinking smell of appearance
& a missing map between cities.
cities of loss, cities of despair.
And i danced in the hollows of horizon
where liquids formed circles of numb rain,
you haunted me, ghost- like lemon peel. and i peeled the layers, still & obvious. With mercury dropping, lightings of heart.
( I am a sun- soaked, mosaic formation of wilderness & weed growing under your chin)
During nights, my body becomes a range of chemicals. The nocturnal nails dip in the swamp of black thoughts. My windowsill evaporates, fumes of my detailed miseries. It’s not saddening what my mind does to my hand and arms. My hair bun, all soaked in summer sweat, dripping anxiety like forlorn tales of missing cities and people. Cleaved heart with tossed skin, my yellow skin delivers light during the phosphene of night.Tangling and swinging, the ebb of my calves lift up like candle flames floating. I cling moist conversation to my entire body parts. Inch by inch. I unwrap the stagnant proliferating blood shadows slowly as my cigarette fades. Silence is the best healer. The wounds chop the underlying skin, razor teeth on my mind. Time defies body, time defies truth, time defies the eye.
I often take a pen and mark my mouth with words and poetry. Periphery protects a savoured soul. Soil: it marks the beginning and the ends like a mirror-crack. Insanity is not what I would call it! During nights, my body regenerates, a cotton swab soaked and firm like Osmosis emerging inside. My body becomes wild.
It’s a symmetry of red dot with a black line. It delivers a soliloquy speech of life and death. Something that my orchid coffin understands and my bizarre soul knows. Chemistry shoots up my body like a talking death hoop. During nights, my body eats my mind.
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