Purgatory Scavengers

Angels of torment twisted my spine into piercing beaks, sculpting my fleshy grave & burying me into wasted nothing, guilt escaped the meaty cage digging through with nails & the bloodshed ink soaked the scene like stained motel sheets, torn skin is wearing thin as it gets devoured by clutching claws, edging as the stricken birth releases a cloud of ravens that spreads like dead branches; color of coal coating a prostitute’s eyelashes, stiff but then those flags mock my snatched glittering remains with cross shaped crows that scatter like bullets clapping for the resurrection.

Growth

Yesterday I broke two toes today I ran faster than any day … to catch a thief you need a fingerprint that is dull and old, lose the print to push the walls of the box further, its existence is not a prison but a motive to inspire even by fear and agony … freedom is a mirage in an infinite desert but give me empty space and I shall create!

Details hold concepts of the bigger picture

“Mommy what are you doing?”
“I’m making pomegranate juice honey!”
“I want them all red!”
“Child, you never know what are you going to get.”
“Well, I like them sour!”
“There are sweet ones & yellow ones, Different flavours for different tastes.”
“So … Our luck decides if it’s red or not?”
“No … We choose our fruit then we accept what it holds inside for us.”
“So god has created pomegranates to surprise us?”
“Son, life is bigger than pomegranates.”