Look at the slimy pink maze of a muscle. Reach out and rip it out of your head.
Follow the people with their brains. Extend your cherry-clad hand and remove a stranger's brain. Bite it, taste it, block by block.
Maybe at that moment when his brain was stuck between your teeth, he thought how crazy and insane you are, but you were just serving humanity. Maybe the old salesman on the other side of the street with his hot beetroots will consider both of you witless youngsters.
Spit his brains out. Take a walk, look at the brain-torn people. Stretch your arm out again and pull out their brains. Anger, hatred, envy, and greed, loathing, which has cruelly piled up in the body and nature of their creation, jump out from the delicious pink, screaming.
You may laugh and say that you will not be a good judge, but we each brew tea every morning to judge the legend of tears and eyes.
-starts with D but doesn't end
YOU ARE READING
The Fig Tree
PoetryA series of a teenager's mental secretions, living through the distorting lenses of a bell jar. Just random holy yap. (جدی نگیرید ولی... روانیم.) Started in: July 12, 2024 Finished in: probably never
