Everything is ruined.
The plan, the plans.
Every ******* thing is torn
Shredded. The hand is poison,
The mouth is a gate that never shuts.
The body, the mind,
A mismatched pair. Utterly senseless.
I’m a hypocrite when I do this.
But then again I might just be fickle.
They call it changing minds,
With the hypocrisy riding on it
Like a wave, up to a froth-filled
Bang on the sandy shore.
The smell of salt annihilates.
I do not wish to live for this.
There, I’ve said it. I’ve sent the
Package to you like I told my head
I would not.
Crumble, crumble oh Pliny.
Vesuvius’s wrath spews here again.
Choking us with its mountain of black ash,
Rushing towards us like a news in hurry.
Salvaging our bones among the ruins of Herculaneum.
We, the organic, getting eaten for centuries.
Shalini Nayar
© 2004
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
Everything is ruined.
The plan, the plans.
Every ******* thing is torn
Shredded. The hand is poison,
The mouth is a gate that never shuts.
The body, the mind,
A mismatched pair. Utterly senseless.
I’m a hypocrite when I do this.
But then again I might just be fickle.
They call it changing minds,
With the hypocrisy riding on it
Like a wave, up to a froth-filled
Bang on the sandy shore.
The smell of salt annihilates.
I do not wish to live for this.
There, I’ve said it. I’ve sent the
Package to you like I told my head
I would not.
Crumble, crumble oh Pliny.
Vesuvius’s wrath spews here again.
Choking us with its mountain of black ash,
Rushing towards us like a news in hurry.
Salvaging our bones among the ruins of Herculaneum.
We, the organic, getting eaten for centuries.
Shalini Nayar
© 2004
