Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Illness of Appetite

A sigh translated into a plain dismissal,
reaching outwards from deep into the wreckage.
Signals breathed out far and silent, decodified by the one and only
soldier in charge.

What is it that muffles the ink?
See grey spots paving roads on the lip, 
and the cheeks swollen with seeds of afterwards.
 The mind remains obsessed with a discrete taste, seasons after
binging on it - 
unvarnished intellect through its unquenchable thirst for dust.

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