It’s my poem of horrors if you simply read the words. But if you dig deeper, it’s not about the blood bath. It’s about showing the real face, which we tend to hide to give the fake appearance of looking happy & great. To me, it’s not a scary poem, it’s a sacred one – a different art form.
The desire to rip off the devilish face
Slice the remains in sharp pieces & small scales
Cut the bones with saw, the sharp rotating chain
Everything collapses, no screams & there’s no pain
Cook the flesh in thick blood till it’s tender & changes its shade
Hiding behind the intense & provocative lens
Made of complex geometries with that improperly proper base
There’s a fine line between your sane & my insane
Feel the heat, I’m not here to dig your grave
Just show the true you, that’s living behind your face
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