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.
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!
“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.”