The Illusionist

Light condemned
In my hole today.
As a cycle follows
In forty nights.

Inch by inch,
The earth sucks me in,
Like
A Dracula drinking
The orgasmic plight.

I clip my claws
Again and again,
But still they find
The papered walls.

Seven colors in the
Rainbowed eyes..
Sip me once,
Before the twilight.

Packed already?
You wish you’d leave!
Constellations follow
Your hasty strides.

I write my verse
Letter by letter,
So it stays where
The Plath died.

Smoked pieces
Of deserted inn,
Remind me of
My scissor veins...

Once a stranger,
Made love,
To a mourning voice
Of a concubine.

Neither a puzzle,
Nor a story,
A rotten waste that
That you leave behind.

O caricatured smile,
I talk to you today,
Don’t unlock me on
The forty-first night.

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When mirrors are the only illusions that die when we close eyes..!