Truth will out

A drink stains near the bottom of a glass,

After the last dregs have drained,

Painting its tinge where it sits the longest,


Just like emotions compressed leave

An indelible hue that reeks of them

In the darkest attics of sensation.


Their colors unseen in the holistic

Until the last remnants of belief and want

Lie exhausted by the insufferable being


And deeper reaches begin to bubble,

Breaking the surface with an unworldly gasp,

Tearing through illusions wherein we are shoehorned.


The emergence shocks you, and all, accustomed

To the mellow conformity that folded these

Under the mattress, pressured and forgotten,


But as tides rumble with reality and storage overflows,

Out pours a burst cloud onto everything on the surface,

Mangling constructs with the real we ignored.




The photo is taken from Arnaav Bhavanani’s album: metro.pol : nyc

metro.pol : nyc


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