After mutilated entities
thrown into oblivion,
thoughts leave the brain,
giving themselves to elements of acquiescence,
not breaking from the matrix.
Sheltered memories,
papyrus knives,
and marshmallow nights
bring fullness to eyes and salted tears.
Home spun jokes and spinning hands
start an acrimonious debate
about bad sex and intolerable heat.
He refuses to put up the pretensions,
lies, which were privileged truths,
did not impress him.
His devotion to pain was very paradoxical
like saving a scorpion who had bit him
with pincers and a poisonous sting.
A social scar, deviated sense,
face to face with the inevitable;
Confusion looks straight in the eyes
No body dares to speak for the downtrodden.
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