Broken
Sink your poisoned dragonfly wings in my chiffon atoms of smothered skin,
As I lay supine, along dusk's apathetic horizons, husky and hoaxed,
For, I'm a kin of blood-moon, gnawing at ivory moonstones and ocean's fins,
As a broken carmine harp, that blooms kohl-orchids from chartreuse stems, smoked,
If my fangs pierce through sun-sequined dawns, am I not grim reaper's broken ballerina?
As a wistful wildflower, I float in harbours of helium, weeping acidic dews,
Inhaling watercolor volcano's lifeless heartbeats, akin a frosted firebird,
Carving legends of medusa, on lilith's marble-canvas and mahogany adieus,
Rising as a seascape-myth on glossy shorelines, ebbing in onyx spirals, savoured,
If pine leaves strangle the trinkets of my throat, am I not a broken snowflake's last breath?
"I'm an orphan of poised Mars, swirling in solstitial meadows,
Of shipwrecked sonatas, saturating in igloo-hues of coiled shadows..."
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2023
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