The weathered rope!
Limbs tied.
Eyes lied.
Ears cried.
Mouth died.
Nose denied.
Thoughts fried.
Hanged from a distorted, extended cliff.
Upside down.
They were comical barbarians.
I thought that my neck will be hugged by the noose.
But, I think, they found my legs more attractive.
The blood flowed downwards.
My neck felt warm.
My head felt heavy.
The kids threw stones at me.
I lost an eye. Then the other one.
My ears vibrated, vociferously.
But the frequencies were imperceptible by the human ears.
My lips were dry. 'Someone throw a stone at my lips.'
'Let me quench my thirst.'
My nose was as useless as a cornered knight in chess.
Eight places reduced to two, and the two blocked, occupied.
Let the rotten rope not snap.
Let me hang and let me enjoy my death.
When people try to enjoy their lives.
My legs felt cold.
The clay cup!
The weather was gloomy.
A gentle breeze blew.
She raced like vehicles on the road,
But not honking or screeching like them.
The obscure sun revealed itself.
His rays touched my legs.
My legs felt warm.
The breeze caressed my neck -
Blowing coldness.
The clay cup emptied -
Crushed with feet.
The brown liquid, a little of it - still in the cup.
The rancorous reverie!
The fruition of fermented fluctuations.
Distortion, desolation.
Let the bohemian urge,
The noxious blood, purge.
The iron in the blood rusts.
Blow it away with gusts.
My skin is dead -
It I have, like a snake, shred.
Up and awake,
I start crawling.
Everyone I forsake.