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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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

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