I’ve seen you grow into a broken tree.
I tend to your branches. I watered you with hope.
Mangoes sprouting from your fingertips.
“We must devour your sweetness, Oh! mistress of that witching hour.”
Shall we lie into that digital tomb?
What says of love if we can’t even provide aid to our friends?
We tried to change the world but we got distracted by a Racoon– the king of stealing trash.
What if we cared about that sperm cell that metastasized into a worker?
“All workers deserves to go to hell; especially, the ones who are efficient.”
Let’s build an Empire of Centipedes. The Darkness where they are most active as they prey on anyone different. Let’s pretend they’re not in the basement, scuttling their way upto the surface.
The tree is burning now. I’m draining myself of all fluids.
I don’t know if it can be stopped.
Fire Burning Above, Water Drowning Below.
(c) A.R. Minhas 2020
