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

Advertisements

Love Bird

You flutter away from my hands

Our disentanglement is what follows

Your Ovum smells especially fertile today

An ancient jug in an opportunistic thrift store

The old wood varnish

And cosmic webs

It’s summer

The blue of a past life

And I’m waiting to be flooded with outrageous fortune

You wear my cum better than a tank top

And I’m searching for that perfect spot between your blatant thighs

To land perfectly

With orgasmic precision

An orange peel wasted

A combination of words that describe the feeling:

“I’m experiencing an Inconvenient Catalytic Exteriorization Phenomenon”

If I could rub your lips I can hear your pain

You tumble down the stairs

And I’ve lost faith in my unconsciousness

And that small, pink bird with green breast flies away

Always elusive to my charms.

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Become a Simurgh

I feel distant again

It started when I desired to be desired

 

And no one has time to waste

 

I became a Simurgh

Soaring on top of a digital wasteland

 

You can keep your trypophobic flowers

I only smell the sweet pheromones of death

 

Did you hear the outrageous music?

 

It was bright red, like a Sun that gives everything but receives nothing

 

I became a Simurgh again

Because they never rest on the ground

 

They are here only to bring messages

They have no time for your stories

 

Eyes instead of feathers to observe

Not to live

 

There is no living here

 

Only beginnings and Ends

 

The middle is soft and silly

 

Become a Simurgh

 

And leap over the earthly spikes

 

And escape your desire to be loved

 

These are trivial things

 

Become a Simurgh

 

So becoming something doesn’t matter anymore.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

I’m Standing Still

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

If Loneliness Was A Cure

Raw silk

Pure power

You stand there edifying

A statue of my inadequacies

 

“My loneliness is better than yours”

 

Overheard.

Disjointed.

 

There is a word for that

Or there should be a word for:

When-you’re-surrounded-by-narcissistic-people-while-all-you-want–to- do-is-get-drunk as-shit-and-have-a-good-time

 

There is no respite from the world

You can only travel so far in the euphoria

Before they bring you back to life

People who would inflict cruelties

But scoff at murder

Murder is where you draw the line

 

“Here, I’ll draw the line for you.”

 

This is me.

 

There is everyone else.

 

I’m standing outside in white darkness.

A tap on the window.

 

I judge a place by­ their cheeseburgers,

And the beef is overcooked.

 

 

 

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Year of Regret

Raw silk, pure power

I feel the anger of drunk drivers passing by

 

She undresses in that winter moon

I lay naked next to you, and I feel you in heat

“Taste it, spit the seeds”

 

I’m a meat eater, but I’ll promise to drink more cranberry juice

And I promise

I won’t fall in love again

You saw what happened last time?

 

Coughed up a lung in love

Footed the bill

And my thoughts have become more bureaucratic

I know exactly what forms to fill out

 

Replacement heart on the way

Plus shipping and handling

 

 

I promise I don’t need anyone

You can ask my dreams

You can ask my bank account

And my investments are doing well too

 

Painting pictures of zero balances on my credit card

Could you imagine?

If you never made mistakes

 

Protein shake diets

I’m taking care of myself

And I don’t need anyone

 

Even if your touch leads to those special endorphins

It’s ok

 

There’s a new year coming up

And I’m sorry for repeating

But there won’t be any regrets anymore.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Our Bodies Betray Us

I’m drinking again

And all I can think of, is her.

It’s cold outside

And the warm melted cheese of my quesadilla

Embraces the foamy amber.

I keep talking about the time I fell in love

And even though I know my friend is tired of me talking about her

Fuck him

I don’t care

I get poetical when I’m drunk,

And I dream of my waitress giving me blowjobs

In that perfect way, she used to

The way she would roll her tongue and sometimes use the sharpness of her teeth…

Nothing like the threat of castration

To get harder

She pulled me closer, and I told her my chemicals were for her.

Only her.

And her skin was meant for me to puncture

And draw monuments to

The way I used the red pen

No one else will know

I remember the swelling of breasts,

Swelling in my mouth.

My mother told me that she never breastfed me,

Maybe that’s why I’m so needy,

So insecure

I excuse myself for a cigarette outside.

I want to be alone.

And if there’s a god, he’s given me the gift of wanting-to-be-alone.

And I exhale smoke in triangular propulsion

Each howl of wind wakes me from sleepiness

And my thoughts race

To the pinkness of her thighs,

Softness of her hair,

Even the slight coarseness of her armpits.

I’m still thinking about her.

The perfect form.

And I’m thinking about her betrayal,

And I’m thinking about forgiving her,

Because

Eventually

Our Bodies betray us

But she will always be perfect in my mind.

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Writing In Silence

You ask me why I write

And I tell you because I can’t communicate with humans

Just ask them

They make me feel alienated

Like an astronaut’s outstretched hand and no one to hold on to

 

My messages are to be delivered in words

So they create explosions of memories

So you can see me as I am

 

I’m trying to reach out here

Meet me halfway

Maybe meet me at Mars

Where there was once water

Now only red and nakedness

 

I wish you had x-ray vision so you can see the playful nature of my soul

I’m not serious all the time

I hate being serious all the time

It’s the job that gets to me

Meet me at the bar on mars

Let’s drink

Screwdrivers to loosen the tongue

Flush out the noose of my stomach

 

I want to be inside of you

The way you sit in that chair

I see the spark of your eye through your legs

Glittering breasts and your perfume filled with animal pheromones

Your orange lips

That ripe eye slit

I want to penetrate it

I want to see what you see

 

Open your pussy

So I can eat you from the inside

And when I come

Don’t get blinded by the light

 

I’m here because I’m lonely.

 

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 6

This is an excerpt from the novel “Confessions of an Abortion Addict.” The novel is still in progress, and I’m continuing this process with Nanowrimo. I’m currently at 10,000 words, 40,000 to go! This passage might not be sequential and will be subject to additional editing. Thank you!

Two travelers in a civic ride past the countryside. The sun sets low in that perfect glow of nostalgia; a time no one remembers but becomes familiar as winter approaches. In plains of beautiful sight, the trees have accepted that their leaves must fall. Snow accumulates on the ground, frostbitten grass fingers unable to touch. I’m looking out at the window and greeted with overhanging wires, deer warning signs, orange pylons, and windmills. I think about what would happen if humans just disappeared from the face of the earth. Will these things still be there, and if they are, what would they matter?

“You’ve never had fast food before?”

“Never, my mother never allowed it, and I just found it reprehensible.”

“Those golden arches don’t do anything for you?”

“Nope.”

“You really are something aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry I’m so different from what you’re used to,” I said, sounding a lot bitchier than it was intended. I was in a foul mood, and it was spilling everywhere.

“No, no—it’s just no matter whoever you are…you always try fast food, you know? Just because it’s always there and sometimes you’re so broke that’s the only thing you can afford, right?”

“You think I’m broke?”

“No, I meant that generally. But you know everyone is broke at some point, and you don’t come off as a spoiled brat.”

“You don’t have to be rich to be spoilt.”

“Hey, sorry did I say something that is making you say all this? Because you sounded really nice on the phone and you’re the one who said that you’d like to come to the cabin after I said I was going.”

“Listen, I’m sorry…it’s I needed to get out of the city for a little bit.”

“And I was your only option? Fantastic.”

“Thank you for understanding,” I said, unable to apologize or empathize with his situation. I turn to the side of my bag and fumbling for my Dunhills. There are debris of my past lives that are in this bag, and I seem to brush against them every time I slip into its content.

The darkness of that leather purse. The womb. An aspiration that will be squirted into a yellow suckling sounds. Blue-tinged aftermaths, tissue paper, crumpled, cold to antiseptic touch, and swabbed with cotton of human shades. A hollow tube that inserts itself into a pink void. It’s searching for meaning and also destroying it. Ftt! Ftt! fits of crying. Centre of embryonic waves crashing into me, and the waves receding taking parts of me with them. And my fingers like looped knives removing the remaining cigarettes.

Windows slightly opened and my fingers nervous to the frigidity of the atmosphere outside. Nightmares following me on journeys of escaping who I am.

Previous Excerpts:

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 5

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 4

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 3

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 2

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 1

Confessions of an Abortion Addict

© A.R. Minhas 2017

I’ll Give You A Kiss In My Dreams

These thoughts buried something

Something in your dreams

There is a jar filled with Honey

And I pour it

They create steps

A temple of your heart

Steep conversations

Vegetation will take care of

Cicadas

Heart thumping like pure jet-streams

Azure is shape of my skin

You sit next to me

 

Can you hear them?

 

Who knew that chemical reactions can create longing?

And I’m floating from you just being next to me

“Share a coke?” you ask with carbonated lips

I would share a grasshopper with you

High on protein

Saliva dripping rainbows and you share that secret with me

There are no Banyans close by

Let’s do magic by that Orange shape

Peeling it by toes

Those natural fingertips are delicate to fur touch

And I promised you an apple pie

If you stay close enough

I’ll give you a view

From my chest

Along a withering forest

To my dreams

Just stay close.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017