Don’t look, don’t look my child,

It’s a pathetic spectacle –

The demise of the big blue marble.

Crash.

Tumble.

Burn.

Do you hear it whimper?

Listen, but don’t look.

 

Sip it, sip it.

Sip the red of my toil.

How does the wine taste?

That’s my blood you drink.

Do you choke now?

Why do you look so bewildered, my child?

It’s but the remnants of

What you haven’t devoured already.

 

Treason, you cry?

No, I haven’t deceived you.

It’s karma hitting you back,

Ascended on its blue-eyed unicorn,

Smirking as it strangles you.

Why do you beg for mercy now?

I told you not to look;

You disobeyed.

Here’s the fruit of your transgression.

 

You stumble and reach for the door.

‘Oh, but it is secured.’

It is locked forever, my child;

You are trapped.

There’s horror in your eyes.

The poison is spreading now.

I sit across the room

On my cactus throne,

Tossing down the whiskey,

Pleased to see you suffer.

 

The countdown has begun,

You grow weak,

And as the clock stops

And unleashes its demonic fangs,

You explode.

There are bits and pieces of you

Scattered all over the floor.

I crouch down

And pick up what amuses me the most.

It’s your darkened heart.

It’s all I ever wanted.

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

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