#071

isolation clasps my clavicles,
bobbing in the gap
i choke on scattered throbs,
buying pauses from a bleeding sea

before i collapse

along veins, i feel the wreck
pulsing up, down, distant like
corked atmosphere
i hold back these
lunar tugs and tides-

odd voices,
they rush in to fill two deflated lungs

©Mohana Das

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10 thoughts on “#071

  1. This made me cry. You said it, exactly. That is poetry. To write what the reader cannot so that when she reads it, it feels like you’ve written her heart. You have a beautiful soul, and I love your voice.

  2. These rise up, for me:

    “i choke on scattered throbs,
    buying pauses from a bleeding sea”

    “corked atmosphere
    i hold back”

    “odd voices”

    ~~~~~

    You can only cork yourself for so long before you pop. Those odd voices we attempt to keep at bay. But they are our oxygen. Why must we hold our breath? Why must we hold our screams? “Throbs” morphs into “sobs” as well.

  3. The physical manifestation of desolation and frustration, loneliness and misery. All bound up in the minds games, when we are hanging at the end of a self woven rope. Great tone and emotion. Loved it.

  4. Love the imagery. Confess one word,tripped me -buying, doesn’t fit the scene.more later when I’m not on a portable device. Intend to read here often thank you.

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