Lashing out at invisible enemies
you focus on virtue test –
putting the ethics into incarceration,
when you ask to dip the hand
in boiling oil. Epiphany, a magnus
tells, gives a sensual arousal.
Without you I was fighting
graffiti on no-name lips.
The green eyes were watching. A
terse detergent suicide.O my
architect, what game you are playing
with a child who refuses to become a father.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 14th, 2015 22:47
- Category: Nature
- Views: 12
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.