He was contaminated with pieces
of the Venus, glowing red everytime
her mother cried instead of reading him
bedtime stories, smouldering the polaroids.
He would hear his father, take vows
that day when everything was white,
sipping on crippled necklaces and skin.
Everytime he completed a sum,
his teacher would smile and the world
would become a little more clearer.
His house was always filled with
smell of the daggers that reeked of
something other than the brownies
that his mother would bake.
When his mother would smile,
he could see the blue marks on her spine.
His father would push the daggers
into the heart of God, a sinner.
The house was the soul of
the cigarette smoke,
dampening the incense sticks.
Everytime he visited the hospital,
the black bed would be filled with
ashes and the smoke rising from
the incineration ground.
His family was broken more than
the heart of the girl he loved.
She sang like dandelions drowning,
gave cuts like Satan falling in love.
She brought brownies in her lunchbox.
She smoked the cigarettes
that his heart was full of.
But would cut herself with violin
strings, promising herself to fall apart
just to fix him but, her hands were broken.
She wore sadness like a second skin.
But yet, she called the boy a scarred moon.
~Sampurna
YOU ARE READING
Ink And Echoes
Poetry♚ ❛ Juliet, Tell me what is it like to vanquish - When you tossed the coin, And stepped on the battleground, With the accent of swords. Still you stand, Hands dripping of sin. In search of Romeo, You killed, And killed, And died. ❜ { Highest rank in...
