Cereus Florus

So, wild things happen. This male, son of a bitch, comes back yet again with all his nonsensical poetries and honeyed, rabelaisian tactics to lure female(s) to rest in his boiling, hungry pot belly. And this animalistic human-hound feeds on your vulnerabilities and frangibilities; throws you naked onto the dark streets with your organs ripped apart of your hollow skeleton for scavengers’ blood treat.

There lies your heart. Misty, shameless, broke and smoky. Plundered and looted off your dignity and feminism. And, you roam on the streets begging for forgiveness, while he fucks your mind with every breath of past you inhale. You are hooked on blood-red fingers and toes, you’re inhumane. Worthless. Just like him.

You carried out the ritualistic patterns passionately, only to find the realized truth lately. You were reckless. I’d say, you deserve it but, my heart and skull go along the same lines as yours…

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my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others.

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