Tuesday, 11 August 2009

It's been yesterday


Melancholic dampness -
a sponge as her front
covets her expected.
The expected.
Her prerogative snatched,
she sits aside.

Through the valley
of her shuddering limbs,
recoiling in pain
her purblinded eyes
notice the pestle:

In the corner
a sacrificial beast awfully de-hearted,
silently lime-lit,
stoning the leaves.
Treacherous leaves.

A poisoned palette leaves her be.

From womb to Welkin
unswerving she leaves.
with the leaves.

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2 anything but sweet nothings::

shreya said...

Is the picture yours?

ChronicP!nk said...

No.