I – A String or a Rope or a Hope

I just want to say
that I appreciate how
you’re letting me dip my toes
into your soul before
getting to know you
so that I can see when
the temperature is just right
for my customary heart-first-
head-second-nose-dive.
You’re the latest fix
to this desperate addiction
for new faces and old tricks
but don’t worry—
new faces get old quick
and it won’t be long
before you’re the stable ground
I’m begging for an earthquake to hit.
You and me,
we’re the kids with the stories
that the songs forgot to finish
so we hang—by a string or a rope or
a hope—without ever really knowing
what’s in store
but
I’m too tried, at best,
to really give a shit
about what happens next.

II – Blueprint for a Breakdown

I want to be around when
the ice that cases your fingertips
bleeds into someone else’s skin
and drips raindrops down their spine,
crashing thunderstorms
to bring the monster back to life.
I want to be around to see
your painted porcelain mask when
it starts slipping from your face,
when it shatters at your feet;
every broken shard stands to prove
that your body still remembers
how to bleed.
I want to be around when
you forget how to breathe,
when your lungs fill up with memories
and your face begins to match
the colour of your veins.
I want to be around when you change. See,
I want want to be around when, finally,
you deign to let your wearied heart
scream.

III – Earthworms Over Reflections

“I sometimes wonder
if you know what the ground looks like
because I don’t think you’ve ever
taken the time to look
down.
“you reserve your deep-eyes for
oceans and cloudscapes
and skin
and ink, but
only in particular shapes
and familiar sequences.
“give in
and walk a mile in your own shoes
but this time don’t let yourself wander
up
or out
“look down
and if you’re quiet enough
you might even see the earth
move.”

by Valmik Kumar

Art – Mavni