We could say so many things.
Flip a coin, decide on our fate.
We’re done introspecting with mirrors.
They are dignified liars.
I have had my fair share of gregarious
pleasantries, cold exchanges
with punctuations in our lives.
Commas, periods and fairly long stint
of ellipses. No more.
Flashbacks are rarely pleasant, barely cinematic.
The truth is tattooed , exhibited ,pawned and sold.
Everything sells. It’s a buyer’s market.
All you need is the best bid.
See the colour of our currency ?
Red! Inked with colours
abandoned on our palette.
It is high time we molted too.
If you think I’d apologise,
For breathing blood in my words,
The metaphors and similes have been
bartered long ago.
Analogies have been mutilated.
Allusions are extinct.
I present to you a corpse of
What I think is the remainder of,
A bloody poetry.