Staggering with the dead

It’s cold, chilly winds

The hot warm soup

“It’s spicy”

 

Shutting off the tap,

it’s brass knuckles

leaving prints

on my hand

 

Tomato soup is red in color.

 

Warm and cozy

Like my pool.

 

I am lying beside it

Staining the blue tiles

Into maroon.

 

The blood-soaked water

Is now bloddy red in the

Aquarium.

 

Fishes choke

on my platelets

They float

Like clouds in the sky

 

The sky is sparkling white

A white Mercedes

Is walking beside the bus.

The cold has creeped

 

My hands are numb,

My fingers are falling off,

Shell by shell

It peels off—my

Face

 

In the midst of shrouds

and withered flowers

Mushrooms and dead plants grow in

Unison.

 

The warmth of closed windows

has disappeared.

 

The sand is cold,

Dead people are icy.

 

The bus is gone

So is the distance.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s