The Cologne That Got You Excited

You flutter

With the least bit of worry

And I’m weak-willed

Flowers

They expressed midnight with showers of orgasms.

I came on top of my tarot cards

And I saw the sharpest of reds.

Sigils that I marked you with

And your pussy tastes like the medicine I need.

Bitter sweet

And possibilities of

Of Children

We smoke till our lungs can’t carry the weight of our Ashes.

I meditate in the thorns of your pubic hair.

My head has a white hat and your breasts talk to me in sign language.

The warmth of your hands remind me of a purple color.

Let’s rest here on the pavement like beggars as we are crowned by the pirouettes of hungry moths.

I wish light to all

Also heart disease

Melt cheese with your mouth

And smell this cologne

Every breath is a sharp draw

Of the swords in the heart.

If this doesn’t make you hard nothing will.

(C) A.R. Minhas 2019

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Fire Above, Water Below (Poetry)

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Your naked body

Against mine

Roof charred,

I can see your frames

Calcium deposits in your ears.

Unsteady legs,

Vertigo

“Our world collapses on ourselves.”

Did you dream of a tower?

Fire above

Explosion of lint

Torrents of water chew the wood

I present the creeping mold

“And what about my plants that I had kept for Feng Shui?”

They have succumbed to smoke inhalation.

The old you is dead.

A fetus was found in the flood.

It comes to term

The world is anew

And the summer child can’t stop laughing.

(C) A.R. Minhas

The Love I Expected.

I never expected to be loved

There are some shortcomings

And here I am

Still

Stuck in a glue trap

“Flesh imbued with pain.”

Heart doesn’t care anymore,

It barely pumps blood

And I hear it

Function like an abandoned beehive

Dust gets in your eyes

Flecks of honey distributed for hedonism.

And

I stare

Into a white tar pit

Evidence of Red Lipstick on the end of a cigarette butt

Craving for a hit

Nicotine oppression

A dream someone had dreamt before,

But the Queen pushes me away.

“These lungs aren’t going to immolate themselves.”

Ash trapped on my beard

The tower is burning

The entity free falls

No soft landing, tainted by love.

Ribcage is a prison,

And I’ve been institutionalized.

Leave my scrawl marks behind,

I don’t have any good memories to share.

(C) A.R. Minhas 2019

Goddess Sativa

She told me, and I didn’t believe her

“Use teeth next time”

Just to hurt more.

A heart doesn’t want to be sober

Like a trail of swollen lights

Blaspheming moths

Incinerated

Masturbating to their own destruction.

You hear the ventilation buzzing

A stutter of cicadas

Stroking to their vibrations

And I cum a purple substance

Goddess Sativa floating in my throat.

The stickiness of thought,

And a centipede spirals into my ear.

It whispers–

“I have stories about the crawl space in your mind that you don’t want to talk about.”

And then I laugh.

I laugh because it doesn’t mean anything.

And I should’ve believed her.

I don’t want to be sober.

I only want to worship you.

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

Weird Eyes

If you had loved me hard enough

“Don’t say those words like an afterthought.”

I burn that flower at night time

The urgency of this message

I’m in love with being myself

Vaseline love,

Apply lotion to a dry heart.

See it through.

Evidence of bubblegum

Cardamom,

Say the word I’m there.

Wax spilt on black marble.

“You came with thundering applause.”

And I burst into you…

Tears

Wide Eyed, weird eyes

Drown

A gaggle of loud noises

Beautifying the porch

Cigarette bodies hidden

Beneath

Neon smoke

Up Above

My nose throbs for your loins

Teeth willing to pierce through

Skin

And then flesh

Blood caramel

Dripping from your lips.

I lay my head down

A disembodied voice

“Nostalgia keeps me alive.”

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

Futile

Can you understand me?

‘Milk spilt in the hall.’

Dionysus cried himself to sleep.

Roses burning with a magnifying glass.

Melted sugar.

Come to the blue party.

Serotonin for you, and the light fades.

Blind
‘The head line dips to Luna.’

My delusions are mine to keep.

Share the kiss, never fall in Love.
Some people are blessed to be alone.

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

A Room Full of Paintings

My Artwork Collage

I’m surrounded by all of you

The paintings that I don’t understand.

The paintings that you keep forcing down my head.

“What was your earliest memory?”

I was on a boat.

A net sank deep into the dark water,

And blood-red crabs emerged.

I said that, and a box full of change fell.

They echoed across the hallway.

“Sounds like Swedish wood.”

And we continue to miscommunicate.

The woman that is behind the painting

Blue and green, patterns of zygotes

Your eye keeps following me.

Your eye makes me hard and makes me desire death.

Curving a sickle to tear open guts.

Sun and steel, the body mimicking desire.

And I can’t stop thinking

What your eyes see, and if they are dilating because of me.

Are there any paintings left for us to Eat?

© A.R. Minhas 2018

The Magician

New Magician WP(edit)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Artwork Available: https://www.redbubble.com/people/arminhas/works/33499459-the-magician-c-a-r-minhas-2018?asc=u&p=photographic-print

 

By: A.R. Minhas

 

She places the tools on the table

Unsheathe the rose petals

It’s time to use them

 

Droplets of wine that spill from the cup

Your thought pierces me

The Divine spirit soaring like a drone

The mystical explosion will destroy you in the vicinity

 

 

A guide that taps her cigarette

Three times and howl is heard

A burn mark shaped like a pentagram

The hands that show the path

As it was above

So it will be

If you find love, kiss me hard

With the tongue involved

A spiritual virus

 

Recreate me

Eternally

 

Your red robes have been thrown in the forest

 

Be sure your nudity is seen by everyone

And the sigil is magnified

 

A

Voice

Calls

From

Below

The chaos

Is interested in you.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

 

New Magician WP(edit)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Artwork Available: https://www.redbubble.com/people/arminhas/works/33499459-the-magician-c-a-r-minhas-2018?asc=u&p=photographic-print

The Fool

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THE FOOL (Zeke)

BY: A.R. Minhas

 

If you hold onto this

Drown in the water

Look up! Look up!

 

There’s hope that if you hold onto the flower

The wind that carries its weight

And floats up

Swirls around a bit

 

I can’t get that green cicada noise out of my head

And I plan to end another father figure’s life

“I’m beyond frustrated.”

 

You don’t lead me anywhere,

I just travel in circles, and all you do is make noises

Plates clutter, your middle-age flatulence

Feet thudding with panic

 

And I fear that

I might end up like you

 

Bald, bloated, stubborn and alone

 

But for now

I feel the wind in my hair

There are no signs of appendicitis

 

I feel like I’m guiding myself

Even this cigarette has given me a new meaning of life

 

And if I can just walk around

I’ll eventually stumble on that mystical guide

 

Here’s hoping it was me all along.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018