My Bipolar head is epic fail Sarah Ahmed
The Red Ceilings Press MMX [rcp 3]
My Bipolar head is epic fail
Bride: Why do I fail? 1 Be bride's flamboyance blue, green most to be treasured in seeing along one see a most bridal in red and lots of pink anticipations. every bride is she careful to look extra exuberant pampered in big costume with touchy makeup It is only soft vanity blocking a smile that ends radiance, lighting a wide range of response It is welcoming a trace of glamorous catastrophe that closes the day.
Fashion: why do I fail? 2 State of mind is a style into the self-esteem of translating a personal creation, with a dip of always changing summer breeze. Fusing together the exploitation of a drifting aesthetic. Always appealing to the current movement.
Shoes: why do I fail? 3 Wanting to wear shoes is confusing to consider. Grabbing the right size before picking up your brain from the enlightened steps with a preferred manner, in tune with the severity of complementing the charismatic style of walking.
Side Note: Answer A laughing person consuming a cherry cake can not be a size zero. You must have a thick ankle collar with woven straps attached to your ass.
Ultra wires of infamous corruption buried in the high ground of moral Exposing the fragile damage Pandora suffered.
Â Void of inception paving the way for crises Assisting the risk posed The clean absence manifests it's valued plague.
Value that informs the cause for cheer Struck down with restraint Shrieking to be watered down As optimism shys away.
Bringing forth a strange influence Deader still the hallowed story Precious doubt eats the dedicated Cruel days swallowed by thunder Birth of heroes bruised by conspiracy The shining armour sacrificed Scattered knights lay down in doom Sneaking affections Prevailing attention mirrors the demise of the eager glory Rushing to the barricades bringing mortal dreams down to their knees.
A Star Doubting public exposure Trapped in a severely damaged imagination Act is falling apart Beating with a TV camera results in a bruised ego.
Invented Rhythm Melody of a muse creates a controversial dynamic Harmony that interprets a subtle performance Dividing the notion of a pleasant sound My bones piercing through the texture of a single instrument In the back of a distorted line A silent ceremony plays the opening chords of diminished survival.
Social Relevance Vivid impact of determined progress Lack of status striving for violence Translating the ironic capture of speech The inflicted equality goes nowhere Enrolled in a paradox of labour The trend of clothing is the severest form of discrimination Lurking in the midst is an honest prejudice Elimination confined to an unfortunate power Impeached illicit honour buried alive in horrific isolation.
The way of the world is insane. With him climbing on top of the tree, shirt all torn up. Eyes always smiling, shining. Dancing around the bushes. It's never safe. An arm that wraps around your face. Flushed. Oozing desperation. But the smile is still there even though the branches cut up half his leg. Oozing red.
Â Siren he called her. Siren sure. She sucked it all out. Can not even hear the sobbing. But it was so loud, offensively bright. Lying in a ditch somewhere is better than sirens. Trust me on that. Red and golden is a lie. Venus is crying, staining the soil. The howling sound is smeared all across her face.
Winter Never Ends Flowers, marked by day and night A dim lamp prolongs the dampness of a sombre thought Serene air covers a frail glass Finding solace in the melting fog A frigid year slumbers under a solemn sky.
Being Night The feeding of a pale essence to an inhabited loved one marks the mischief of an accused undead Bloated veins exhume the dominant fantasy Widespread Pervasive Crossing a sack of bodies Staring through hungry eyes of an emaciated quality Eating the imaginary spawn of a ruddy corpse.
Dissected Nail clippings stuck in the throat The skeletal-faced doctor died in childbirth Removing and consuming the yelping heart It was turned around and burned with the flaming veggies Taste of salty ashes suck at the hollow tongue.
Unusual Feature Deceased responsible for the removal of living The tiny drops of rouge seek a prey Skull tied to the wings detaches the elongated thorns As the hole terrorizes the mouth Fear of catching it's intestines Revolting sullen hair attaches needles to the furry skin.
No Man Firing the slime of dread Morals lost in glorious victories Watching the horrors fumigate the living Digging the shadowy peace that blossoms Shuffle and scoff the murky courage Spattering the scarlet ink across your eyes Calling out to the afflicted trench as all sanity evades the naive.
Final warning My foolish existence flows through the river waters with plastic bags dancing on it's head.
Sarah Ahmad, 22 years old, was born in India and lives in Pakistan. She works as a photographer. She considers herself a struggling poet and artis t as in her world where life is so fragile, not knowing if you will return alive every time you step out of the house, getting someone to acknowledge your art is a real struggle. Her work has appeared in various e-zines and magazines and that makes her want to dance like a crazy person (which she often does). Her chapbooks are Chaotic Disillusion (Calliope Nerve Media), Lurking Exposure (Chippens Press) and Unfulfilled Doubts (Artistically Declined Press). She blogs here scribblingpoetry.blogspot.com
The Red Ceilings Press MMX [rcp 3]