Saturday 27 September 2014

~ Hunger of something … ~


 ~ Hunger of something … ~ 
Anything,
Piercing,
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?

4 comments:

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

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

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

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

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