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

No Love

So you hold me close

And I’ve thought about that afternoon

You hold me too tight

And I’m not able to give you love or offer love

I’m resigned to the fact that you despise me

For some reason

I trigger something in you that finds me so repulsive…

And I can only draw you now in naked form

Your breasts have eyes that I can’t escape from

 

I had learned to live alone

So it’s ok if you’d like to

I’ll swipe left before you even think about it

 

It’s rude to say anything

Mutually assured loneliness.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

 

 

Blackholes

I’m sailing a ship in space,

Because I want to be left alone.

Everyone told me I will drown in the moon.

 

And I’m ok with that.

 

As long as I can have my smoke on that secret porch,

As long as I can feel the sweet comfort of a dark chocolate cake that was left over,

I sometimes imagine your blood is its icing.

I’m colonizing the stars,

Repopulating them with your memories.

At the bottom of the ocean

Pressure conforms—cracking skulls

The sound of opening a can of coke

“Come share with me,”

I’m spilling purple flowers everywhere

Can you imagine a gesture of love drifting alone in space?

 

So peaceful.

At the bottom of the ocean.

Living in Atlantis.

Imaginary like heaven,

All the pain disappears.

Like a memory of that light that was there once,

Like a memory of oxygen…

Everything fades to zero-calories of nothingness.

 

My lungs grow heavy with sulfates

Why don’t you just die here?

“This is a good spot,”

The black hole is right above my head.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Deeper Than Dreaming

The waters re-appear

Drowning imagination in salty froth

As the world strangles his neck, he felt his teeth fall,

Below the abyss of the waking world— like notes from the past

Images left on the canvas

“Don’t paint them again!”

 

I wander now on the boat made of rubber tires

Using broken hands to steer

The stiffness points north

“I have no intentions of going on journeys anymore.

Let’s dream to wander aimlessly.”

 

Inner eyes seeing through the body

But there are no landmarks or memories to possess

 

Everything I was once

 

Gone

Left only with the finding of himself

 

With fluidity, he soothes his urges,

But now the tempest has risen again

Nostrils contracting with the heavy scent of turpentine

Knowing the power over him is held by the blueness of the past

 

But the crippled sailors’ journey is meaningless

At the same time, the boat is only directed by an easterly breeze;

Reflected by Narcissus

 

Lip-syncing Queen of wands I found in that forgotten deck

I don’t fear the tides

Like towers crashing down

 

But even at the edge of this precipice, I can’t escape my body

Frozen by guilt and sheltered by the warmth of regrets

 

 

I am the only thing that survived the end of the world

Now the sea-serpent emerges from within

He rises                                   Spiraling like minarets

 

It was the snake that eats itself eternally

It hissed so he could bow his head

 

It proceeded to cannibalize itself

As the sailor continued on

 

 

There was still no sign of land

But the air had eroded a smile on his face.

 

© A.R Minhas 2018

A Weekend In Spider Country

I’m here

Sitting by the lake

If you can see me now

What do I have to lose?

 

If I wasn’t here it wouldn’t matter

If I’m not here it wouldn’t change you

It wouldn’t change the crystal clear water

 

There is nothing that I can do

Lying here impotent

On red Muskoka chairs

 

No matter how far I travel

Or where I sit

It doesn’t change

 

This unease

I can never get comfortable

 

Feeling useless isn’t unique

But feeling nothing

Is okay

 

Spiders crawling

Bedspread

I try to bleed them but they keep coming back

 

Nesting in my ears

You can hear them

 

 

Constructing a web

Trap the flies

I wish I could trap your eyes

Stroke them with honey

 

This sugar is for you

 

 

And there’s nothing left for me.

Leaving, wouldn’t matter

 

Staying

Is suspended mid-air

 

Floating

 

Spiders make me uncomfortable

 

And that’s why I can’t sit still.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

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 glasses.

 

And here come the golden cicadas

 

Interrupting me

While I masturbate with my own thoughts

 

I’ll hide behind your pale breasts

The blood from my gums left behind

 

Thumbs leave an impression

Fingers pulsate with love

 

Silkworms on their arduous task

Going uphill on ashened graves

 

A plume of waxed legs

Use them to silence me

 

My sense of humor will kill you

If you came to close to it

 

It’s opening

 

The Birth of a joke

Laugh in the face of absurdity

 

You are lost

And there is laughter everywhere

And I can’t help myself

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

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 when the sunlight hits your eyes,

And you’re deep in thought

Among nature

Our Natural oppressor

 

The one who compels the mosquitoes to spread their blood thinner

Venom

Chemicals are designed to control you

If you can’t pronounce it

You better not swallow it, or smoke it

Or be infected by it

I ask that you hold your heart accountable

Because eventually, everyone betrays

Your blood has to be thin

And a heart has to be glass

 

Kindness not returned but refracted

Distorted to those who you truly care about

And to those traitors who deserve a second chance

 

Go deeper than that

And fuck her the way she’s supposed to be fucked

Don’t be selfish

Don’t be unkind

This isn’t about you

 

Go deeper than that

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

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 ether

                                               I’m immune to your charms

And claims of love

Please sell insurance somewhere else

Premiums are high and I’m unworthy to get your coverage.

          Breasts like deployed airbags

                          Sometimes accidents are a good thing

 

If it’s Cherry red then I’m sold

But not too far

                   The elevator opens on the far end

                             And my erection will hold the door open for you

 

And I’m pressing the button down

Don’t you dare sneak in

I’m told my cologne is poisonous

 

I’ll reach you before you can

But this is not the time

Or the spatial reality to consider such matters

I’m not looking for adventure

And my heart is weak

                   It wants its own company

                   It deserves its own company

                                      Sole-proprietorship

And Unlimited liability

 

My heart has grown tired of adventure

                   It just wants to watch TV

                   Eat unhealthy                        And derive pleasure from pixelated

                                                                Barbie dolls

 

And abnormal quantities of

Jack and coke.

I don’t mind being sick as long as my heart isn’t affected.

          This is the love

I exude out

And my lips have forgotten how to interpret your name.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

 

If you’re going to kill me, do it gently with a lot of pain

I have a new formation in my mouth

            It spouts lies and carbon dioxide

If there was anywhere, I could be

            I would be somewhere else

“Blackness of the night is the perfect cover for a lonely soul.”

            I exhale the smoke to paint the world in the red of mercury movies.

 

I know the pink blossoms from your upturned lips

            If there was a way, I could enucleate your third eye…

I would, without the proper soma

            The tongue summons forth the goddess of Serotonin

            Blue-ringed skin, stubbed of afternoon love-making.

 

If I could love again, I would bless you with my famed paper laurel.

Drawing you naked with charcoal finger touch.

            I’ve tasted an ashtray, but nothing like this

                        A plantation of teeth-marks

                        A garden of pussy licks

                        Areolas entangled like barbed wire. Breasts encircled.

 

Inner thighs like cushions of static

            Head is dawn, Pubic hair is darkness

I pull you by that and leave my name with a serrated knife.

And you squeal like a sacrificial lamb.

            Blood gets everywhere, even in my mouth.

Gums are weak, but your teeth threaten castration.

 

I can’t keep my alcohol, and I can’t keep you.

            If there were a way I could love you I would

But I would much rather be here than somewhere else.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

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

This is an excerpt from the novel “Confessions of an Abortion Addict.” The novel is still in progress and this excerpt might not be sequential and will be subject to additional editing. Thank you!

 

“I love your fucked-up-ness, ” I said to her, handing the joint I had exhaled.

 

“Do you like the fact that I’m fucked up because a) you’d like to fix me or b) you just attracted to fucked-up-ness?” smoke encircling above us.

 

“I’d like to think that it’s a bit of both,” I smirked, pulling her closer to me and felt her trippy breath, the joint was lost somewhere in the struggle. The pheromones were intoxicating. She starts by pulling off my shirt and looked impressed by my physique. She ran through my entire body counting every muscle (one of the advantages of wrestling for a living is that you have to stay in shape. The mass gainers, multi-vitamins and moderate use of the d-ball pills helps a lot obviously) and then using the sharpness of her nails, plunging deep into my shoulders towards the small of my back.

I feel my skin peeling off— and there is no pain. I pull away, teasing her a little. This allowed her the opportunity to get rid of her shirt and surprisingly she was able to maintain unbreakable eye-contact, slithering out of her cut-up jeans, purple-bra unfastened with precision while doing so.

I now place my finger on her third eye. Sliding it down. Through her delicate nose; I stop for a moment marking the sweet nectary lips, and she takes the opportunity to open her mouth slightly, suckling my finger; the left hand appears, starting its journey behind her ear, towards her neck— she shivers from the slight tickle and her legs jerk, like she was touched by static. Her hands pierce me, she has dug them deep in my abdomen, and now she untangles my belt releasing me. She is admiring my body—the left-hand strokes her pronounced clavicle towards her swollen breasts.

I pinch her nipples which looked like half-opened eyelids in that light— she tells me to pinch her once more but now, with more feeling. I slap them a little harder, and she smiles with her finger in my mouth. She now uses both her hands to make my right hand travel down kundalini. I’m briefly introduced to the notch of her neck, and with each touch, she moans, and I get closer to her navel, but before that, I’m introduced to the surprising tautness of her midriff.

“My Belly button is my weak spot…you better not tickle me over there,” She says with a slight inflection. Her body is swaying wildly.

“It’s almost as if you want me to tickle you down there,” I said winking my eye.

“No, I’m serious…”

He drops down to his knees and using his subtle beard tickles my belly button, his stubble doesn’t hide his ovular face, the point on his chin does the trick. I noticed his flame dancing beady eyes fixated on me. Both his hands are circling my breasts, circling around trying to find the center of me, and I feel the cold touch of tongue. I can’t stop giggling. The tickling gets to me every time, and I’m in the middle of stroking his arms, which are veiny, sweaty and the just right kind of muscular and then he—

The remaining journey is now continued with the tongue through the trimmed vegetation below. Both my hands are around the waist; I circle the vortex, closing my eyes, and calling forth the darkness: echoes of vaginal mucus. I feel the circuitry tightening up, quivering to the performance of my ritual.

I’m pulling his long wavy hair. He knows what he’s doing. I feel his teeth leaving bite impression on my thighs and then he uses the same teeth to uncover the piece of clothing that remained.

He is devouring me, eating me from limb to limb. I see an image of an eye dilating. The shape of an octopus turning blue to squirt the black liquid. Blackness drowning, I choke on the afterimage of the red perforated holes on a mucus-like surface. The tentacles grabbing me, and the image makes me recoil, but it becomes whole, as I travel out of view. Endorphins in chaos—perhaps I’m beginning to react differently to my fears. The stubble is perfect. The stubble is perfect for pussy-eating.

I feel the sea-monster raging from its cave. It is pulsating with electrochemical processes. I use my fingers on the peach-colored walls to feel for traps, gooey richness. Drum beats, following the gushing of water, slip and sliding along. A flash of light and it closes. Waterfall sounds, birds chirping. There is tranquility for once. I even feel a slight minty breeze, a faint odor of pleasure. I go deeper into a darkness I’ve never seen before. The kind of darkness untouched by any kind of form. And the darkness opens its eyelid looking at me, and I see my true self. Within the gigantic eye, I see my reflection which is half me and half her or half him and half me. I’m disoriented, at the reflection I see, our souls intertwined in bondage, what true unity looks like– the final orgasm. Merged into one figure. There were separate thoughts, and now we were reflections integrated, and thoughts took form rather than words:

“My real name isn’t June. It’s Jasmine Khulsoom. I’m a daughter of a Pakistani-mother who married a white man, without the blessing of the family. He ended up leaving my mother. I had a twin sister, who died here in the womb because we shared the same amniotic sac; she died of umbilical strangulation. I was born by being the cause of my sister’s death.

My mother and I lived alone here, without the support of anyone. She worked every waking hour to make sure I got the opportunities I deserved. My mother, though cast out, impressed on me the love of God. The love of the religion, the love of Islam but I saw nothing but randomness. She wasn’t impressed by my atheistic inclinations, but I guess she couldn’t blame me for holding such beliefs.  I hated my father; I hated not belonging to anything. I hated that I had no faith. I loved my mother though; her strength, kindness pulled me through and she died last year. I felt that she hated me. I hated myself for the longest time. I blame myself for everything; my unknown sisters’ death, my parent’s separation…I’ve hated myself, always. That has been the only constant: the disgust that I have for myself.

I don’t know if there is any way I could get over that. Then I discovered that I could be someone else. I could be paid to be someone else. If only for a moment or two, I could escape who I really was. Acting became my everything; I went to school part-time and then eventually auditions on weekends. I got a couple of two-bit parts, and then I had my stint with, Tcherkovsky. I was able to network with some big shots down south and finally, I got noticed, and now for once—I am noticed, and now I’m on the verge. I’m on the verge of being discovered. This suffering will mean something.”

This was never communicated orally. It was understood. Absorbed by the exchange of fluids and touch. Traveling through the intermittent pause of our violent love-making. Sometimes it takes a moment to become familiar, sometimes it takes a lifetime, and even then you are only an acquaintance.

The bedsprings jolting, fucking while high is a place to be. I can feel the penis gasping for air, it was there long choking on the ashes. He is trying to pull out, but I’m clasping it, squeezing the juices. I will give him relief when he embraces his inevitability. I am the receptacle of both life and death.

“Shit! Shit! I think I came inside of you…” He said finally releasing himself. He rolls on the side of the covers.

“It’s ok. I’m on birth control,” I said, and I didn’t remove my stare to ensure that he believed me. I wonder if he knew how truly fucked-up I am.

 

Previous Excerpts:

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