I flirt with death daily
Offering up my body for sex
And my mind for fruitless endeavours
Which lead nowhere and have no path
Already trodden out for me to follow.
I whimsically hope of immortality
Or immorality, recall the knelling
Of wedding bells over my funeral pyre
And my cabbage patch child turning blue
On the surgeons table
As monkeys in masks waved scalpels and
Screeched Dead, dead, dead into my ears
As I studded my face with dewdrops and
Stared nonsensically up to the heavens
And asked a silent God why he had bulged me
With the promise of new life
And yet had let me give birth to a lie.
YOU ARE READING
Black Coffee
Şiir"Normality is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly"- Anon. In life we tenderly bloom, slowly shrivel and then die like flowers. This small collection of poetry reveals human emotion from a number of different perspectives...
