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Plath

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pitiless purgatory, the pain i get when watching pornographies, fuck you man, now i press my pulses  to check if i ever overcome this paralysis, i often picture Plath, she was presented with poisoned probabilities, her teenage arithmetic was spilled  like the  youth's cold serum, was she being branded an eternal psychopath? well her husband  called her at the dining  table, smashed her with  name of his mistress  and dark labels while clutching her thighs, i tell her stories to the father of my future child, after he dresses me back in my shirts and panties, she bled through a  miscarriage but her husband was  coercing her bed to  produce another child, fuck you man, one boy once set the snare, peddling his paper paradise, but my man had a string i know, he reeled me back before he even arrived, i am the safest now, spared from being crucified, fuck you man, but she committed suicide. - chetna 🌻 
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close

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i hope you never  hold me close again, close enough to roll my erratic impulses  away from your door, my life is decrepit; i've kept my delusive  sleep in dead drafts, yet it's still better than the way your arms wrap me close - close enough to dig  potholes, spreading  dirt on my forearms, still evacuating the  roots of rosegold, we are raising high walls of our sanctuary, uprooting the basis of how harmoniously  they looked at our story, i hope you do not put your lips ever close  to a fading memory, close enough to watch us indicting, impaired  by something we could  never handle from afar. - chetna 🌻 
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Calgary

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park seat, cirrus sky, haunting memories, torrential downpours, scared to roll them down my sullen mask, i know they will freeze  like my hope in the dark, maybe, i am unworthy, just heartless, Calgary, ivy creeping up my leg, swallowing the girl i was, slamming my flesh apart, echoes screaming all  around how they always  saw me in the shade of  addled grains and dust, i believe all this now, i am heartless, Calgary, it comes no wonder  they never fail to unsee, how my clock did bleed, stole some years from me, this fucking heavy tragedy, it legit erased me personally, yes i feel like i mopped  every sense of my heart, but i'm not heartless, Calgary. - chetna 🌻 
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oxygen

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i inhale oxygen, sigh out cigarette  smoke, and it echoes the bile i've been keeping  in throughout,  i inhale oxygen, tokenize my lipids and cells,  but when i grieve,  hiding myself in velvet curtains, i sympathize with my beloved persons, but i actually mean,  "fuck them all" i inhale oxygen, psychic fears  cutting my thin, downtrodden skin, but when my  lungs heave out, they torture some fresh air, and i  again ache for the  cigarette smoke, i am still pure and perfect in this pollution, then i inhale oxygen. - chetna 🌻 
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faith

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i have been phased  down to be called  crazy to clever to cruel in love, did i watch my  parents quarrel  too loud and harsh  or did i misread  their holy clause  for how people  ought to fall in love, or did i wonder and catalog some ounces  for the cardinal faith? i was leaving the city, he was standing far, rains crashed on  our heads, goodbye, i was reading my city, he came close to chart  why my heart beats fast, hello, rains crashed  so hard again, but in  our hearts, we got dissolved into some symbols of ourselves,  why do they lift their  fingers like i broke their cardinal faith? 23 years, holocaust, befriended my past, not a virgin, i love to have sex in the dark, i blurred their faith  by the ink of spark, perhaps the altar was never built for me, just the cold step stones where the martyrs grieve, so they laid down  their armour to cage  my hollow heartbeat,  did i wipe the cardina...
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sonogram

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i dropped my tears  on that ancient paper absorbing some art, still i couldn't wash, so i colour my lips blue, i conceal that i feel somber and  insecure every day, operative sadness houses in my heart, my oblations and  thrills didn't last, they blunted the  knife still showed  me how well they camouflage, i still  look at the ceiling, try to forgive them  for the fucking past, but why don't they  now leave my blood  columns in waltz? i want to eat all my body parts, but  then how will they  kill my sonogram  gestating alone in the dark? - chetna 🌻 
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tongue

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i had an idea of  a dark repose,  but i nursed the  pulp of poppy,  and put it on my  glass tongue, smashed my  back in delusion, tilted my head, dropped soused saliva on my  white cloth, like a river thawing my shoulder, it burned to  green, i saw a  small hole too, unclothing my skin, but my tongue  is still a glass, i show their  reflections here, to some faint, to others black, just solid and  unperforated, it can taste them. - chetna 🌻 
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scapegoat

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did i watch it happen   or few mammals in closets, did i walk on your streets  or construct new lockups?  priesthood turned in, tore volumes of past, i can hear this narcissism  "you've to break your fast," soils never need to  forget to forgive at last, seeds spurt out alone but can you harvest such mass? brooms or contracts, street cleaning sophists, consensus or charges, does your senses only work while on drugs,  answer, dear fascists?  one day, i swear i will  line up to bulldoze your churches and the court, i might sleep on flowers but i am not a scapegoat.  - chetna 🌻 
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bounce back

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i just bounced myself  back from putting my fingers on edges, i am hardly held tight on the  shafts of wind turbines, revolving likewise the  inner child in me is  watching her own  cycle of crisis of life, i just bounced myself  back from joyriding  down and jumping off  the height, i am such an  ant rotating in turmoil,  now i can't justify why  i used to draw circles at  the age of nine before i  had been linearly aligned, i just bounced myself  back from holding my  girlhood to be graved in grids of graphite, i am such a girl too honest to be hidden  in curves of my mind, still gyring in bridewells  carving my marginal life. - chetna 🌻 
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where's my life?

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surrounded all around  by sterile stars, but  i do not even try to reach and bask in  such gilded shine,  fuck them, i've my own design, i have never felt so alone yet alive, "where's my life?" was it just sex or  power fuelling my breaths to set my own home on fire? he says, "i am his  only earth in his space" but i doubt my past religions and insights, i might be his life but "where's my life?"  all the other girls  i called Cinderella  are married and  living in beehives, it's hard to chase routes on which  cowards dragged  their bodies into  shame with pride, rolling over thorns  deflating my swollen  diaphragm up and down, "where's my life?" and one day, my husband will  fuck me thrice  just in one night, bittersweet cherry  red marks over my  breasts, leaking white  syrups down there,  on the altar of our bed, he'll show me heavens, but i will ask him, "where's my life?" - chet...
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scorpion

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my wrist was the  place where some  scorpion bit and bred its home, as if this slum had sensed how to sit still in sins and salts, they all can trace  the shape of heart it carved while sipping  my burning red serum, well, i too skipped even  my beautiful beats of life but i was straining  pain out of this force, the scorpion finally rested its soul, but beneath my slowly  shattered shells, no one could know for whom to mourn, because they all can  never ever endure, i was that poison's perennial source. - chetna 🌻 
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