I’m standing still
You keep moving on
In my artificial drunkenness
I smell the sweet taste of death.
Non-existent comforter
Wrapped in your left breast
Milk gets everywhere
Spilled on afternoon tea
Green as you were
I’m left pale and broken.
“Where is my womb?”
I’m left to wonder how cruel I can get
Have you seen my torture lungs?
Bronchials inflammed
Shooting with nerves
I want to share my fluids.
But not at the price of my company
I’m better standing here.
And you all the way there.
Our spikes are meant to stab
No comfort in human touch
The digital release of my soul.
I’ll impregnate you with my thoughts,
Abort me later.
You can offer me comfort from the other end of the world
I don’t want your closeness
The messiness of attachment
I can only offer you mind-numbing cliches.
There is no warmth left anymore
My body is cold
And your hands
Don’t resemble a soul mate.
© A.R. Minhas 2018