Catharsis? a a b
By Shreya Venkataraghavan
Why Why— Do you not see my Fractal-ed auras? We are distanced by but Glass and wind... Such stuff So sullen Does Ring ring ring From the depths Of the caverns Of your Sweet sweet bones, You are greased With molasses From head to soul, Is that a Halo there, leaking out Your bloody-blued toe? Why're your Eyes so rich With pearly-black Balm?— There is little That will cure Your beady-eyed Qualm. Hellish Hell hell hell What on earth do you breathe? For you gyrate Like a thousand
Red red red suns! Such sounds Such times So wildly Crimed By the Liquor Of the ichor Of your sweet Pearl blood? These lives Those rhymes Paint knots 'Bout your knees, Yet you laugh As you cry— Such chivalrous Good deed. Scathing Snake! I see not not not But for your Heart.
I Know I know— They'll wring The sap Out your Bloody little Heart, They'll disinfect you, Infect you, then Slowly take apart Your fragmented Fragments Your honey-suckled Flagrance Your wildly white Penance... Watch that shadow! My friend, Are those needles That dot Your hollowed out Old backbone? Is this treacle That burns Your finely Carved hands? Oh? You would like To partake In this perversely Rugged race? You drool, you Drool over such Fractals of fate,
It does not Do to partake— Fool, Fool! Here's some Blood and Some stake. Soul, Do you favour Such Watery red Graves? You are but ashes Without urn— Such melancholy shame. Why, You luminesce?— How strange.
Depths From the deep, damned rose Bled the cloying ichor Of the sweet, sound ropes ‘Round the depths of my heart. From my mortal’s window Stemmed the raving lover Like the snake’s white shadow ‘Round the depths of my heart. Out the roaring menace Slid the unburnt evils Like the ghosts of solace Down the depths of my heart. To the wilding flowers Went the flagrant tenants Of the razor towers Down the depths of my heart. In the warm-gold yonder Laughs the old blue spirit That shall only wander 'Round the depths of my heart. See the lonely ravens Sap the far-gone liquor Of my deep blue shadow, Of the world’s dead marrow, Of such home brew sorrow, Of this farcing flambeau— Did One but wilt — In Crescendo?
Perfect Perfect? You’re Dripping, drooling Gold Down your teeth, Midas— His salty thumb Down your cheek. Look at those eyes— Foaming with that Liquor; Liquor from the Ichor Of your Sweet pearl Blood? Look up now, You’ll see Your reflection, Plated in platinum? I know It’s silver. Feel your Face now, Is it Blood That courses Through those Heavenly veins? Not a word now, I know— It’s brine.
Oh? Your spirit Does dance In these Nights Of Agony— Hopeless. Yes That pervasive Light Is on your lucky Old soul. Rejoice. See the stars? For they follow Your shadow— Don’t they, now?
Desolate In the confines Of this vast cage Lies the cloying story Of a bygone age The heartbeats of a breath The windmills of a scent The imprints of a sky That 'round me did fly... From the streams that Ran beneath my crest-fallen Feet to that laugh in the air That arched out of reach, Oh That downcast day of stormy nights, The pitiful sway of nostalgic sight... For the wind was but more Than an empty soul, And the guardian spirit Was no longer whole... And so In a half-hearted hallucinatory chase We chose to eradicate this unreal space... What futility... Did one but fathom?
Nostalgia Fleetingly despondent seconds... Everything but time Stood still That day, When Nostalgia slipped through Outstretched palms To form chains around The souls of arms Whose hearts did beat Against the cold Bound feet That pressed Unto the blades of stars Whilst breaths burned The dead, black scars That would come To release The blood That would flood The gates Of a heaven That resigned to fates. What is that dawn at the horizon?
Strangled Knots In the desolate Isolation of emotion Comes a fear Of the unreal circumstance. Words, Fragmented phrases, Spoken somewhat, Yet unheard of... Unheard of by the very minds Off whom they'd sprung, Unspoken of by the souls Off which they thrive... Like parasites, They live on To feed on the unwittingly unwitting Threads Of the bitterly sweet Chaos That you call life.