Ambrosia

Someone once told me to take this tragedy inside me and to turn it into art; to paint the walls with my broken heart. So I picked up my palette of mistakes, of strewn bed-sheets & of hands-held and I prayed to a god I did not believe in, for an ending to a story …

Funeral

Now the front seat is empty; a yellow streetlight flickers; a cigarette meets her mouth and a silk blanket slides down her bare shoulders. Her empty gaze meets the glass mirror, framed and engraved with stones that only glimmer in the light. She, a muffled siren, mourns in secret, kissed by another tame visitor that …