This vintage arm
is like a faded memory
a corpuscle
of streaming hope
the greys and the reds
a turbid of morbid dreams,
Scars slid, dancing,
they seem happy.
Scars are my baby now
forever, inside
my hallucinating body of madness.
pain is my adamant bowl of Ganges.
slipping between fingers of sickle.
Moist, melting inside somewhere
scars, you make me beautiful.
©Image and words MVS
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.
®My Valiant Soul
