By Swarnali Patra.
My mind is an unmade bed from being savagely seduced by your intellect.
I have an illiterate heart that is learning the spectral ways of annihilating souls with poetry.
I have my nerves crocheted with yours, making a blanket that keeps me warm on solitary nights.
I have my soul in a conduit with you like your Vodoo dolls that marry the necromantic night.
I have dream-catchers on my body that lure my demons make love to me as I moan.
I wear oblivion like a summer dress as you and I surf on the tidal waves of nostalgia.
I drink your lies up like aged Champagne as I scar your back in ecstasy.
I know you have taken my skin for wood, to ignite and let me burn, while you burn us to ashes.
I smell the fire you set me on and I have been walking around like a pyromaniac.
I am a savage who knows rawness; I loved the savage personification of the end of me.