Cherry Flavoured Antacids
Prose, Poetry and Random Musings.


Category: , , By Homer Simpson!

Mantled in scars, she'd not feel but just ogle helplessly.
Jagged against my skin, along my cheeks, and on my hands.
In midnight caresses, odious blushes, and explicit hushes.
In violent regressions, fluent vows, and lustful exchanges.
Feigned dreadfulness, and thought I'd never notice the texture.
Not while the lustful exploration or sifting the conscience.
Conscious I am. She said. Obdurate it is. She meant.

I'd observed them fiercely long before I'd touched her.
Committed to memory sharp angles of overbearing nerves.
Ruffing against blood and tissue, thin and stretched over.
I saw the glittering charcoal beneath her fingernails.
I killed nights, fantasizing her scrubbing them away in vain.
In the shower,furiously. It was the veins, destined to be hers.
Couldn't let him know. She thought. Aware he was. She knew.

I'd noticed them first; those blue convexed tributaries.
And later, the delicate non-existent joints of her wrists.
And later still, long after sex, the way each cut would bloom
In hot weather, on her fingertips, to her lips. On my heart.
How anxiety would speed up her tight-lipped complaints.
It hurt her each time she washed her hands. She never said.
It hurt me too, to watch her itch and to believe. She doesn't know.

Covered in numbing stigmata. We'd ridiculed it perpetually.
When she was not in pain. Pondered whether, with distortion,
She might no longer have any fingerprints beneath those nails.
I wondered if destinies could be altered by an allergic complaint,
re-writing one's palms. I wanted us to have matching life-lines.
Converging identities. Inseparable souls. Bloodless handshakes.
Even if it meant re-doing my own with a knife, dagger or my heart.

Geography has healed her now. The change of climate.
Not medicines. It keeps her burning skin in tact.
Now every time she spreads her acute fingers like wings,
No flesh is opened, no blood brought forth. Just heart ache.
But with the flight of her hands which no longer care,
She jilts me instead, of affection. Hates me for all I do.
Gestures no, instead of yes. Eternally remains empty and nescient.

It is like picking layers of flesh from my body.
Fresh are those nights when she touched me in return.
The calluses scratching against the insides of my thigh,
And still I want to graft her pain and scars beneath the
epidermis of my heart, blend the pain with my soul.
Girl, kiss me tonight. Take me. Put your hands on me, Love.
In agonizing shame and mistrust. I too, am scarred.

PS: Eczematous: Of, pertaining to or afflicted with eczema


14 comments so far.

  1. Americanising Desi October 18, 2009 at 9:03 PM
    after ages a commendable post on blogger :)
    well long time no see!!
  2. Divya October 18, 2009 at 10:46 PM
    Nice.. i dont usually like poetry very much but i liked this :)
  3. Misty October 19, 2009 at 11:30 PM
    In agonizing shame and mistrust. I too, am scarred.

    Another amazing post.
  4. VickY October 20, 2009 at 12:30 AM
    wow...another gem from the master.
    That last para is too close to my heart...

    beautiful as always...

    tc n hugs
  5. M October 20, 2009 at 1:51 AM
    Welcome back and dont you dare leave and go again....

    Brilliant... This is one of your simple poems...Not too complicated but brilliant nonetheless :D
  6. lizzie November 3, 2009 at 8:16 PM
    this was so intense...felt it on myself...great work!(Y)
  7. Crepuscule Colour November 5, 2009 at 8:26 PM
    Amazes me how a poem can make someone feel like this in a minute.. almost near tears.. beauty out of something ugly. :)
  8. Anonymous November 6, 2009 at 2:32 AM
    hi.. just dropping by here... have a nice day!
  9. Anonymous January 13, 2010 at 4:41 PM
    I will not agree on it. I over nice post. Expressly the designation attracted me to be familiar with the unscathed story.
  10. Lady Grinch March 3, 2010 at 6:48 PM
    I like your style. It is so beautifully structured and very honest. Loved it!
  11. • » ∂я.¢нιℓє ¢нєℓ¢ « • October 6, 2010 at 6:43 PM
  12. shadow November 5, 2010 at 6:06 AM
    oh how life ,could open up to give fresh start ,to love ,share our lives as we both know and believed it should been ,I been trying get back to you ,

    the days turned to months
    now my heart weeps ,as I can't feel you ,near as always held .

    I am scared

    I never wanted ,you out my life ,Listen to many things ,you speak of me .

    maybe I've loss

    A Truth that beats with my own Heart ,will be

    Two Fools that kept pushing each other away
    Two fools ,that wouldn't pick up a phone ,or talk

    two fools ,with a smile
    Let go

    rest our lives
    those two fools
    will always feel those beats of
    "our hearts "

    wiping away my Tears ,Screaming with my complete Soul to be Heard
    I Love You

    My Dreams ,you will always be ,maybe in life ,couldn't be together ,as I would gave

    was no one that was there to Listen

    Was always there ,to fix me

    Was none that accepted ,after hearing truth

    there was many that was there to Judge

    As ,it must of seemed ,my heart ,felt nothing

    as must seemed things I done ,was heartless

    dreams ,you shall be ,with me that ,holds no judging ,only accepting ,with love ,we always knew

    Pray ,
    You hear my Heart
    Hear my Prayer
    washed with tears
    take me with you
  13. Scribblers Inc July 6, 2011 at 11:27 PM
    One of those rare moments when I dont know if I am fit to critique. Also, a rarer moment(probably ONLY) when I would see the words Stigmata and Eczimatic being used in poetry.

    Quite awed
    Scribblers Inc.

    P.S.- It would be an honour if you would do Shocketry or Shocking poetry...its a rather base form of the kind of kickass stuff you are executing here. Would be great if you could check out the idea nonetheless.
  14. Ishiyeta Saxena November 6, 2011 at 9:33 PM
    Beautifully written :)

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