aviisevil

aviisevil Oct 28

Perhaps it was
a day in October,

or summer,
or spring—

it could have been
a Tuesday,

or the rains
in July.

How could I
have known?

I’ve rarely been
that blessed.

Perhaps it was
her eyes,

the song
of her laughter,

those many nights
of longing,

or the distance
that has come of
age.

But one day,
I fell in love.

#love

aviisevil Oct 23

that day in yesterday

She sleeps in
my arms,

her softness against
my skin,

her warm touch
needling me,

an endless embrace
of summer.

How I miss her
now;

she’s everything—
perfect,

a never-ending
moonlight,

the expanse of
a thousand stars,

an endless garden
in the rain.

It always takes
a while,

and I cannot
stop needing,

for she is
here now,

and I still cannot
believe.

#love

aviisevil Oct 5

Mosaic

I saw her
in pieces—

red, blue, and
green,

sharp and
timid,

confused and
swollen,

her red eyes
begging for
something—

anything,
anyone,

just the
one.

Simple things,
simpler times.

Such is the
world—

unfair and
rotten,

too much,
too little—

everything,
nothing.

Circling the
autumn,

winter in her
bones,

the summer in
her smile,

the spring in
her step.

I have seen
the ocean in
her eyes,

the naked sky
in her breath,

the strength in
her arms

to carry the
heaviest of scars—

to be someone
for something,

to be something
for someone.

The little world
inside her head

wanting to be
free—

but she knows
not

She is of that
world—

the last of
her kind,

the pieces that
won't fit—

unfinished,

untamed,

more than the sum
of her scars—

wild and unbroken,

her colors
her own—

perfect.

To my dearest friend, Bushra.

aviisevil Sep 17

the last of my kind

I cried
yesterday

and what little
was buried inside

got out—

spilled all over
the floor,

flooding the walls,
the windows,
and the doors,
dripping from tables,
chairs,
and pillows

at my feet.

And how I stood
there in silence,

hearing the clock
tick and talk,

waiting for
someone—
anyone—

to come and
save me.

It's only been
thirty years.

aviisevil Sep 9

tri kuta

the last of me

watching the
sun set

orange and red
and pink

the ***** of the
summer

the scent of an
old city

an eight year
old boy

watching the
sun rise

the last of him

the last of many
things

eyes wide open

#hurt

aviisevil Aug 25

what it takes to make a man

tired men
weak minds

traveling in
circles

collecting
venom in their
hearts

to spit out the
darkness

in arms of a
woman

talking about
their kingdom

armies of
the world

the great battle
in making

of thoughts of
violence

how it all
ends

#world #life

aviisevil Jul 19

Atomic Addictions

Violent thoughts
circle the carcass,

like the vultures
in my dreams,

dancing on the
naked grass,

feasting on the
spoils of sorrow,

ever hungry for the
fading conscience,

uncovering rules
of my addiction.

I have lost the will
to wake up and be
conscious.

Snow-clad isms
are melting,

preying on the
headless corpses.

Fractured flesh
infects the grieving
scriptures.

At last, the storms
have come to collect
the forest,

but they won’t
come and listen.

Potent remedies
bury the silences,

sowed in bones—
lessons of religion

of the man
burning in the
distance.

He’s been cut
with precision,

his toothless grin
battling sciences.

I can see the sun
set in his eyes;

he’d rather sleep
until the end of the
world.

#life #dark #people