Death is our savior

Death shows us the way

to the real truth

Death is beautiful

Death is high on humans

Death only do us part

Death is angelic but

only misuderstood

Death, be my friend

and share my solitude

Death, blow me anytime

Loving you is not a crime

Death, suck my blood dry

I don’t care, I won’t cry

Death, I give myself to you



I am yours



Copyright 2013

All rights reserved, Asmaa Lotfy



Vanilla Scented Darkness

Amid all the dense weight ,

The negotiable notions of self redemption,

Amid the forgotten details

of a heavy damp fair map

lies the unspeakable thoughts and infatuations.

god loves sinners and imperfectionists

who spark the night with their endless yearnings.

god loves girls who wear black eye liner and fish nets

in a concert lamenting some morbid sides.

The soul’s intensity veiled with humanness

is trying to find a way out.

What is it about souls impersonating souls ?

The idealistic and insightful vitamins

found in a spinal cord are moving

where nothing can be found.

White matter turns into soft anarchy

feeding over a splendid voice and

some Vanilla scented darkness.

It’s dark, damp and resplendent

like a pink necropolis ditching floating bodies.

Daring dashes and darling dusks

daydreaming dainty and delicacies

and downwards the map, hedonism is found.


Copyright 2013

All rights reserved, Asmaa Lotfy


Infinite Words

Shapes and shadows lamenting over his partial existence

Creating epic stories and repaired cells that surround her mind.

People are copies sometimes, you never know which is real and

which is fake lurking around the corner waiting to eliminate you.

And through him, you disappear into the vast cosmic infinity with

nothing but meaningless words and desperate memories.

The warmth of his skin and transcendental cryptic eyes are

worth a thousand years of waiting in the void.

But waiting always comes with a price that is

to wither and fade every second for a million time.

To experience the absurd  pain smothering reality

that only exists in your dis-functional conscience.


The nothingness greets her with an invisible smile

The nothingness embraces her with penetrating arms

The nothingness suffocates her till she moves no more,

thinks no more and loves no more.

”Everything and everyone is meaningless, she says

And the meaningless words  don’t add much.”


The Emptiness

The Emptiness:

In your head

In your soul

In your heart and

the words said before.

The Emptiness:

In your touch

In your eyes

In your laugh and

some vigorous cries

The Emptiness:

Is you and all

things related to


The Emptiness:

Is more hollow and

transparent in your


The Emptiness:

Will turn into

Something when


Pull the trigger.

Pull the trigger.




Heart Ashes

Through darkness, we can see ourselves clearly

The reflection is undeniably obvious

with all our perfections and imperfections

scrubbing against humanity’s limitations


By the corner of a four walled room

You can see me

By the edges of your torn soul

You can envision me

Making sculptures of heart ashes

Floating in a mind full of spaces

I’d invite your being in,

but they don’t like your insistence


Let me hear your skin talk to mine.

Whispering every prayer is always divine.

let your voice touch mine and

sink through an endless melody

of thoughts and dreams.


She saw herself painting with

infinite rainbows and sparkling crystals

while kissing the entities of his brain.

She’d make trembling words out of liquid stamps

and wave to Lucy who suddenly put on

her velvet dress and hipster dance.

The room is expanding sucking her in the

total senseless subconsciousness.


His voice is calling her like air particles

making love to the ocean’s waves.

She only exists when she is torn apart.


Do you know about sore throats ?

Painful realities demolished through glass cuts?

Or maybe those colorful nails and frenzy boots?

People wearing shiny pearls and marvelous coats

while hanging from ropes and leaving purple toes?

And babies made of ecstatic demonic fluid and marble stones

While minds made of green sights and black holes

But the hearts are always made out of emptiness and rainbow ashes.



The Little Garden

I have a mango tree

in my little garden

The grass is green

The flowers are white

And a small can trash

full of pepsi diet


Worms live in the soil

Birds eat the worms

Cats hunt the birds

And dogs chase the cats

A never ending cycle of life


An Indian Jasmine tree

salutes me graciously

with Jasmine every

serene summer night.



In the afternoon,

the garden blooms its essence

through the water that

rushes through the roots and leaves

generously making its way through mud

caressing the jasmine and rosemary

unconditional joy fills the place

and the scent of wet mud

fills my lungs completely

and I feel euphoric,

out of this world.

In my little garden.


Blue Lotus

Nails stuck on the wall

Trashed metal cans

Your smile is poisonous

Blue lotus in my red wine

Play, play and sleep

With your remains

lying next to me

Play, play and sleep

through paints

through dust

Colorless voices

Scentless laughs

Throw a pebble

into the sea

Blue lotus in my hair

A broken guitar

burning the

damaged souls.


Copyright 2013

All rights reserved, Asmaa Lotfy