a man’s masquerade

demand of action betrays his visage

words crack

the mirror of his reflection

costume of conceit is unzipped


turn back

to the pavement of perilous highs

there swings a golden braid of love

cling your flaws and jump

the pulley salved with belief

pulls you in a costume stitched

with one’s predilection


I cater for your eyes

my dalliance, if not in mine

in the end, ‘the end’

we all shall be loved

briefly, and

perhaps content


©Written Frames, 2018

We do not need anybody more than we need ourselves to know ourselves.

Inner Conflict


demons howl and sprint

bloodbath of pride, enthroned is the shame

sickened to stomach you ride the wolf

of the moon and its yearnings


swing the sword and charge

murder the distaste of headache

cradled between the palms is battled crown

eyes twitch and roll in anguish


be awake if you need to be

heart is clasped in claws of shame concealed

clutch hard your chest and spit the blood

spilling blood of prayers, you never chanted


lie still and stare at the roof

enclosed inside the four walls, the battlefield stiffened

heed your hands and sleep if unarmed

breathe and pretend the ignorance


or else arm yourselves

a hooked knife in left is targeted to chest

a sword in right is pointed to head

do or die as them have said




©Written Frames, 2018

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