My left arm is a nuclear holocaust
My right arm heals everything.
These pills underneath my tongue like bombs
Will explode in your mouth, while the
Only thing in your mind will be my words
Only my words, nothing else.
Love is a religion which I chose
Not to believe in, but
I know Amma won’t call me an atheist
Because religion isn’t God and also
Deep down I know she doesn’t believe in love either.
Mornings are brief love letters
Written to a flower by death.
How is it that you walk into a funeral
Numb as a daisy and
When you leave you bloom
Into an orchard of sunsets.
And with every one of your smile
You kill a man or two
But still you are relieved
At least you didn’t torture them
With love before they died.
And in the evening while in your bath
Sinking into your own body
You’ll realize that you’re a cadaver who smells like vinegar
And you’ll start living the moment
You realises that you are in a morgue
And that’s why there are cuts all over
Your body and yet you hardly ache.
You carry death on your shoulder
In tiny glittered jewelery boxes of green hope
Tied up to the back of your ears with hair
And yet you don’t call your life a
Mobile mortuary, instead you call it beautiful.
You call it a landslide
Trying to find it’s way back in a rain.
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