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Darshan Pillay Aug 2018
Bromidic Heat
By Darshan Pillay

Nothing but crickets
Nothing but chirps, anything would
Be better, better than this
They make the noise with their legs
The sound tastes like biting into a lemon
Sour, having an acidic taste, like that
Of vinegar, lemon juice etc.
Below standard, poor
Harsh in spirit of temper
Touchy, apt to take offence on
Slight provocation
I’m touchy about being told who to be
Tinder, any dry substance that readily
Takes fire from a spark
The heat is here for that cool cat, who
Won’t become a square
And won’t cut his moptop
The heat were always bogarting
Cool cats don’t care for dough
Everything is bromidic
Sunshineflowers  Jul 2013
help.
Sunshineflowers Jul 2013
I'm wasting this journey ,
Living among the bromidic
Conversations about the infinitesimal,
I want intellectual talk,
Not asininity.
C-wolf Jan 2014
“Start a new chapter”

What a cliché talk of trash,
Sick of the story,
Sick of the characters
Sick to death of the bromidic lifestyle
Of our “protagonist”,
Who’s more of a *******.

No ambition, no talent, no heart,
No anything really,
Blind shots in the dark.

“I’ll stick to it” He says
“Everyday!” He declares
But everyday becomes every week
And every week becomes every month
And every month becomes-not every year,
But whenever-he-feels-he’s-capable,
Able to apply words into a fable
Of tongue tangling and mind rotting slur.

He’ll be going out today,
Wasting money on fatty foods and
Carbonated poison he doesn't need.
And in an almost pitiful attempt
To feel better about what he failed
He’ll say “I’ll try tonight” in a whisper.

Does he write tonight? Does he ****.

— The End —