User Review( votes)
written by: Devika Mathur
From the louring chest of dark hypocrisy, among the cries of almond faces,
In a city of gargantuan wars, where blood becomes the language of the tongue.
Turpid walls creak shallow hollows of empty noise,
A noise of silence. Noise of abhorrence sinking in the curves of my waistline
And a pervasive churning of petrified blood whirling in my stomach,
producing an array of shouts, stashed like a beetle leaf,
darkening the carvings of my arms, where wisdom is snatched,
where the star-dust fails, I stand in such a swamp of monotonous aversion,
sinking, numb, a broken piece,
A thorn on my chest, splinters of grey icicles in my mouth.
I wither like silent coffin,
I see it all, I see a grey, white slumber.
Hoping to slap dandelions on the darkest of the moon.