My fist – a home of dreams

'MENORCA' - SPRING 2018 KINLY

This picture you see is a firework,
a shooter of transparent memories.
A vivid piece of artwork, fumbling across my face
with veins growing up in the sky
outwards and inwards
a low key noise/ stammering through the delicacy of time/
Isn’t it strange?
The oval diaphragm painted so calmly.
I see this pink sapphire picture
and I see my eyes there,
holding green, surreal dreams of a colorful palette
A quiet breeze of stars.
I see this starry studded picture now,
vehemently sipping bridge of cold laughter,
This is my evolution now,
trees beaming in a subservience forest.

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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https://bloodintoinkpressblog.wordpress.com/2019/03/29/call-for-submissions-there-is-strength-in-our-stories/

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.

Uproar



i have a body that whizz like a circus
 two eulogies of sanguine madholes
 clifts and wars of a drunk man
 Loss of vision.Loss of words.
 repercussions produce hollows
 as deep as a cactus.

My knees producing floating amphibians
 Almost inhuman.
 Slid my copious throat
 you will have two minds again there,
 savaging my body
 like it's a loss of nothingness.
 streaming hot heads of loss.

©MVS

The way- I am

do you remember the blues
penetrating my veins
of penumbra stoic
sheets?
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)

©Image and words- MVS

#NaPoWriMo#25


How I count my soul

a birthmark & a taboo
i am a lavish smile of smirk
you incubated me & my head
with soils of murder and hatred
sins of monster & coal of coals.
to kiss your dark soul
i swim like a starfish,
concurrent currents floating
inside my solitary knee-bone
see it, feel it, sniff it
chop it. chop it. chop it
it Shall again appear with
half sun and half moon rays.

like a starfish singing,
unveiling the balmy metaphors
crooked though plumbed
in your anxious fingers of blood
in your anxious mouth of dirt.


©MVS

NaPoWriMo#24

missing-breaths

How do you define my perforated body aches with meteors dissolving? It’s an harrowing scenario with blood screams, thunders stuck to my backbone. Lipids going haywire and my eyes swollen with a pool of tyranny. Nostrils flutter like vintage sheets of paper, obsolete in obscure point. A point of missing mornings and seasons.
Each night, i hang like a loose memory, thermometer and fever, clinging my spinal cord and striking deaths and sins of sinisters.
The autumn leaves wrapped to my bare skin,defying the existence of bequeathed lives I survived. The midnight burning oils & lamps. The clocks of death. And my earthly body.

I perspire like an old lady, clinging to the curtains of pink breaths. With a casket of stars & hope swallowing like an infant, I fight oh yes I do. I precipitate and conjure in my linings of thin mucus, coughing disgusts and disgusts.
How do you define my motionless body now?©MVS

NaPoWriMo#23


Still Surviving

If you ask how am I today, I might tell you—

Darkness growling like the dead, a sad weed or a burned tree. My fingers ache each day
to feel the autumn on fire. Like mordacious nails, scratching the inside of my conjured mind. I know, you might feel nothing. Speechless?
Oh, pluck my skin, see the inner scratch, that is my scream.
Hidden in the ball of vexation, my lips drifting apart, to say thy name.
My pale eyeballs feeling the dead dreams. Oh, how dark, can you see?
I am a hideous soul of stale flesh and paralysed hymns, still surviving.
I am stale lotus blooming in the eyes of the razor-layered body.

©My Valiant Soul


Hunters-Down

I’ve been ripped and raped
with ferocious water ripples,
knives-steel cracked
Blood- bookmarked souls
rummaging through my skull
black&grey, still, molten.

The people are stale and ash
clicking wet tongues
eh,eh,eh,eh
dipped in morgues
and shadow of the death

With spits of fungus and moss
decoding their faces of hunger,
the world is a shit hole
anger and anger.

This place is a hoax
and a drop of glinting blood
on your chin,
on your hands,
on your rose opening.
The violence eats you
mental brewing of skulls and cracks
and this polka dot frocks, skirts
ripped and raped.

©MVS


heart-a -staircase

desire••••

I could dissolve and dismantle both in your arms. Your concave dripping horizon. Here, sweet nectars of a word, alliteration efflorescences. Poultice killing ant-eaten wound. I put my oblong waist inside your palms to catch the last nights fits and sins, sinister. You breathe effortlessly, like a paper chewing the drops of rain, steadily and I watch you smoking naked. I shrink, cinnamon fingers dipped in writing as I paint you in my slivers of lost chills. I see you marking my territory, with hazelnuts and pepper, cracking one by one. You announce me your wild bitch.The galaxy ruptures between your words and my forehead mole. We are all sinners.
loss••••

I am awake, in the cauldrons of your magic that rubs my backbone, similar to the mountain ranges romancing with the sunshine. The spikes and fumes drove me madcap when my arm flew in the vapid motionless air. It was your A B S E N C E. The air balmy and dead. I roamed naked and baked naked. with my face sagging beyond the levels of my bosom. It was Saturday and your A B S E N C E.
healing••••

And, it is a fixation now. Crystal studded your eyes with my silhouette, marrying my body from that broken pale toe to my hair. I circle and hover my dandelion legs to sense the reality, the sun-baked air filled with our fabled romance and memories. The room is a temple and this is the reality.


image and words©MVS- Something new that I tried!

NaPoWriMo#17