I find myself in that dark abyss Cruel, malefic, and conscious I know not what I'm writing The purpose or the reason There's no escape route visible Clamouring for breath Screams muffled into whimpers My head hurts— A lot Oh it hurts, it hurts, it hurts I haven't seen love If it's meant to be seen I haven't felt love If it's meant to be felt I haven't tasted love If it's meant to be tasted What is love? I heard, the first glimpse into this rare jewel Is given by the primary caregivers I know not who they are Are they those two bodies— The ones screaming behind the screen The air heavy with a charge That doesn't feel positive Is this love? Then I have ample I see them while I play with Jojo and Mojo It's always those dramatic flailing of arms The crude expressions- theatrical They call me expressive Probably got it from my mother They call my articulation grave Probably got it from my father They see me debating on stage Say I have it in me- a gif...
In the perilous drains something afloat
Dancing-drowning in the buoyant force.
It shimmered neither
Nor glimmered like crystal
But like the Indian cousin, coal.
Powdery and flaky skin it had not
But possessed a flesh like this author abroad.
Wild-roses, primroses pinched their noses
The wild stench malevolent
Of charred flesh in an infernal broil.
The bulbous mass afloat, tarred,
Heart of all infamy,
Stayed affixed 'gainst the gallant stream,
The ominous smell summoning the sins.
The author thus bent to untangle
The mossy tentacles piercing the beating flesh
In sync with the personal pulse much abhorred
Of a heart guillotined.
The author cupped the discarded in their palm,
Desirous of impregnating their hollow abode.
Like a flayed pig in a banquet hall
The chest gaped with an inanimate hunger befall.
But the nerves in the author's fingers
Recoiled to paralysis-
Dropping the slimy thumping mass and
Saw it float to the abyssal depths, away.
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