Saturday, 27 September 2014

~ Hunger of something … ~

 ~ Hunger of something … ~ 
Stabbing like a blunt rusted knife,
Cutting me deep,
But with ‘extra’ weighing pain …
I’d just elegantly fold my bleeding wings,
Cocooning my hurt-self,
From the din of the throbs,
Of the ugly-faced expectation’s blobs,
Mirth, fair-skinned, shelling me from outside,
Petulant nee, going green, puking, culling inside,
And, look, I’d still smile, smile, smile,
Smiling until,
My lips learn to stay upturned,
Forming into a sunny, gentle, true curve … elusive of any dimple …
And something would happen … then,
Felt such closely,
As if filling my little going-blue pouches with bounty air —
Touching an apparition — classily,
That, the blunt knife was nothing,
But, an honest delusion,
Of my famished, fretted life …
Now, the question that fester is —
Am I really so, so hungry,
To feed myself on such sincere, beautiful-eyed lies?


  1. ah you will not be satisfied with lies...not for long at least...they can taste great...but really are less filling...

  2. Lies turn sour in the long run....nice capture

  3. I have a GOOD memory!
    That is a lie!
    It is why I HATE lying, and don't do it anymore.

  4. "I used to lie, when even the truth would suffice..."