Constructing a web
Trap the flies
I wish I could trap your eyes
Stroke them with honey
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Author: A.R. Minhas
Voracious reader. Aspiring writer. Fan of weird and literary fiction. Also into some mystical Mumbo-Jumbo and other philosophical nonsense. Also, I have previously published short stories and poems around the internet. Thank you for visiting, and I'll be posting new material as often as possible. Like and/or follow this blog and follow me on other social medias.
Please message me at arminhas666@gmail.com
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My sense of humor is a death trap
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… Read more “My sense of humor is a death trap”
There Is A Way To Go Deeper
I wish I could go deeper Deeper into the darkness So deep that when it’s black I’m blinded by the speckles of Red Spirals Like… Read more “There Is A Way To Go Deeper”
I STILL HAVE TIME: A GARDEN OF EYES
Everything is falling apart
As it always does
I Don’t Send My Heart On Adventures Anymore
I lie on a bed made of ash My body rests precariously Acupuncture Cigarette butts Nicotine gently sways Into… Read more “I Don’t Send My Heart On Adventures Anymore”
I feel worse than you
I feel worse than that night. I’m pining for that cigarette, the first one I ever smoked. I’m in that tunnel again. No reception, no one cares.… Read more “I feel worse than you”
Pretend that I don’t even exist.
There was a death recently And what do you care about life? Actually, there were two Both of them water-related. Think bloated green stomachs. Just another individual… Read more “Pretend that I don’t even exist.”
Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 5
The room was a vacuum of white static. A giant corridor in a hospital except without the smell of disinfectant; it smelt more like a perfume counter of a department store. This is the beginning of your new life.
The Three Poisons of My Soul
This blood is like Dasani, it’s salty and meant for you.
If you’re going to kill me, do it gently with a lot of pain
The tongue summons forth the goddess of Serotonin.
Blue-ringed skin, stubbed of afternoon love-making.
