One who sees not a grace in her face..

could never be able to go in race beyond
self-mirrored pale s(k)inned screens
touched up with polished
red lip service of plastic life,
shimmering on skin-deep surface,
deep dull non-dusted interiors in prolific
cobweb-hangs thickened to a necrotic rope.

Moon in effervescence cratering self in depressions,
Clawed hands target in a desirous vanilla scoop,
This alien taster forgets her presence in no seconds,
‘Almost nearness’ delusions eats her to a weatherized nullness,
Yet another theaterized life emerges in hope’s increments,
Fullness in a frozen moment she attains by a true ‘seeker’.


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