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

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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.”

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