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Ganesh Malani Jan 2015
scratched walls,
horrifying screams,
of dreams,

electric chair stupor,
in the boudoir,
breathing lunar air,
it’s a psychotic affair.

dilated pupil,
the brain was being a cupel,
men in white coats,
injecting drugs,
in bodies like slugs.

soaked bodies in bath tub,
gazing on the ceiling reading what’s written up.
loonies conspiring against the medic,
through the power of psychedelic.

eyeing each doctor from the corner of their eye,
sitting on their chairs high.
burning with desire,
cold as a wire.

the breakout began at noon,
headed by a loon.
followed by a goon,
in the end of june.

the loons,
wanted to escape to the desert dunes,
running away from the chemical fumes,
dodging exhume.

discarded and rejected.

the loons had taken over,
the goons had won.
they were stun.

terrible turn of events,
it was all in their mind tents,
still sulking on the beds and their wheel chairs,
dreaming of the answers of their prayers.
poem no. 12
from my book porcelain love.
Ganesh Malani Jan 2015
my glasses have been coloured with hedonistic hue,
through this new vision,
i enjoy the inner view.

lust is a must,
for which i have made some provision,
helps me attain pleasure,
of his feminine creation.

the ******* train,
hitting my brain,
taking away the societal pain,
i have no pants,
i have no shame.

i invite you all to my heathen mansion,
to taste the roasted swine,
i may not be there,
as i plan on  enjoying my women and wine.

— The End —