Bored Till Death

Death is a beautiful woman
drenched in blue velvet
while smoking green
in the afternoon.

Death loves black cats
bare skin and constant
colorful melodies and
tunes .

Her red lipstick on the wall
Sweet traces of sweat and tears
Untouched sand and seashores
Red blood moon and a call.

Death is a tight palm tree skirt
And a vintage scarf over her neck
loud screams and several whispers
through the long morning hours.

Death is long lonely summer nights
powdery soft ivory kisses
infinite space within four walls
playful sea lions in the air.

Death is my boredom filling
my empty room and bed
writing on the wall:
”bored till death”
I might as well die

Death is not being
there together.

Copyright 2014

All rights reserved, Asmaa Lotfy

Red Sky

I don’t know about today
or tomorrow or
after tomorrow
Vagueness spreads over
meaningless calenders
and untouchable changing
hours.

We are only wasting time
floating over naked mattresses
painting the unknown
Embracing light and fearing
darkness as it takes me away.

I don’t care if I turn into ashes
tomorrow or disappear through
my sleep tonight.
I won’t mind dissolving through
air and a red sky.

Mud and dark fall scent
over repetitive morning coffee
and stale cigarettes with
old foolish spirits.

She writes out of boredom
out of erotic tendencies
slipping through her mind
like black silk undergarments
and gods kissing swiftly through
different dimensions and worlds.

She changes with different seasons
not knowing what to expect
losing and gaining silence
and in between:
she feels everything and she feels
nothing
losing some of her braincells
and hurting her ability to
memorize.

Staying any longer
will only destroy than
create.
Too much suffocation.

Running out of time.

Copyright 2014

All rights reserved, Asmaa Lotfy

Pink Eyes

My walls are breathing.

I can hear every inhale

and exhale.

The texture is soft,

and apples aren’t always

bright on the inside.

I have restored their bodies

hanging quietly

on every side

staring silently at

my empty

bed.

Pink eyes

Immortal wickedness

and shameless desires.

The walls never judge

Never betray

Never hold a grudge.

Mother hates them

she despises our

thoughts.

Mother tore us apart.

Painted the walls

destroyed the cards.

But,

we are immortal.

Copyright 2013

All rights reserved, Asmaa Lotfy

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.