Friday, August 25, 2006

The pain comes up every now and then
With a semi-religious regularity
Like a fucking planet in the sky
Around an angelic bright star.

Feels like you lost your limb
The feeling of not dialing a familiar number
A million better things beckon you
And your phantom limb keeps dialing.

Sometimes you throw up
Wanting to purge the number
Little do you realise
That the number is your mucous, not your fucking food.

4 comments:

reno said...

Just to say HELLO !

Happy to visit your blog.

Greetings from Belgium.

Reno

sudha said...

i dont care if its mucous or food, life just sucks bigtime :(( even murder, i tell you, will not do justice.

Sundar said...

I don't know why you can't sedate your phantom limb for life, or powder your mucous dry and cough it out. Just hypnotise yourself to believing you don't like to do that. It works most of the time.

Ishwar said...

How else will I get the inspiration to write deep-souding posts?