December 5, 2010
11: 59 PM

Pincushion

You prickled my life,
Here and there,
To mark strikingly vivid checkpoints,
Where you could step at will,
And fetch blood oozing from those stained bins,
To polish your nails red;
The color you love,
The color that kindles you; empowers you
For deliberate annihilation of the soul seeking you.
But what comes of it?
It stains in time,
Sticks to your nails like a persistent parasite,
Slowly nourishing upon your beauty,
Breaking and tearing your nails,
Eating up all your vanity,
Making you look like a homeless witch,
Waiting at doorsteps during wee hours
For a bowl of porridge.
The only way you remove those stains,
The only way you fight this misery
Is by using my spirit
The only spirit that knows
How to counteract the accelerating deformation.
Say the word.
Let me unleash that spirit,
Locked in a safe,
Situated in a quiet place, that is
Far beyond your influence.

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