Scuttling

satishverma

Enfant terrible.
I disown myself,
and try to follow my
occult intution.

Crossing the magnetic
field, I become neutral.
You will have to
collect my tears.

There will be no anniversary
of the funeral,
I will die imperfectly.

Failed to kiss the uninviting
throat of the knife. It
went straight into
my unread anthology.

Your smile will chase me
like a black spider. Its lethal
venom was painless.

Black and blue, if
I could perspire in the
freezing snow of the flames.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 9th, 2020 21:11
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 7
  • Users favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses
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