My sense of humor is a death trap
Lock Jaw. Trap shut.
There goes your face
Contact lenses lost within eyes.
Go find your broken glasses.
And here come the golden cicadas
While I masturbate with my own thoughts
I’ll hide behind your pale breasts
The blood from my gums left behind
Thumbs leave an impression
Fingers pulsate with love
Silkworms on their arduous task
Going uphill on ashened graves
A plume of waxed legs
Use them to silence me
My sense of humor will kill you
If you came to close to it
The Birth of a joke
Laugh in the face of absurdity
You are lost
And there is laughter everywhere
And I can’t help myself
© A.R. Minhas 2017