I just published my poetry collection Crimson Skins on Amazon. Check it out.
The night has a soft pattern to dismantle my body<
Quiet a as hushed wound with a flat curvature of a splitting fruit,
my body is a temple to wounds,
a temple to eat things that are fleshy.
The night lamps are soft ointments to soothe this loss .
A state of delirium, a state of despair.
These wounds are like flowers sitting atop my body,
Wounds- a silhouette of a silver limping leg,
a mouth that spreads shade of green fevers.
I have no where else to go now,
I rest my story to the empty nights,
a hollow stone is all that stays.
ALSO, IF ANYONE KNOWS HOW TO SWITCH BACK TO CLASSIC EDITOR PLEASE HELP ME!
Sacrosanct air, violet toes touching , spamming grounds
An eggshell face, with polka-dots
this family is vintage.
With bewildering tales, this air becomes scissor-talks,
A temple is burnt,
A miscarriage occurs,
The soil is pale black, the tremors are afraid
to knock the window pane.
You and I see this
We carry the stimuli of paranoia.
Splinters of forgotten prayers are stuck
to this void eye
Your brown eye,
my black eye,
What aftermath we plan?
Here, a lizard is awakened to walk across the parched souls
Here, a coffin is opened.
So we plan to walk into the land of oblivion words
where Grey- is the colour.
Beyond this cracking wall, in the horizon of that empty dusk,
I walk in the blues of protrusion of my floral cheeks
my mind scratched, my heart stabbed
A partition of a falling star and constellation of stars
a Meraki of a paper boat, if you know
I walk in unknown thorns, small, oval, sweet and bitter
if bitterly waves reside in this moment, I shall conjure my body
with naked dust
And that dust will still hurt my iris,
for my eyes has seen the deep red scar