You’re a fat bag on the shoulder of defeat with more flesh to be chewed, shared around in the mouths of your lovers whose oral room is filled with fart carrying carts of art to wriggle smell, hell, and shell with a bell waking your lovers up with snores.
Mouths that have loved should be filled with smiles, grins, respect and flowers, it should be filled with meat like an art work rushing to meet the South Pole blowing with beautiful winds from faces of freedom.
Lovers drink you like tea bags to forget you inside hot water, inside fire, inside furnace to maintain their sex license.
You’re the forgotten lake left behind to suffer alone because you’re a piece of frame that no man will ever post on the wall of his heart or building without holding fire extinguisher to quench the fire you carry in your face.
Defeat snores everyday trying to speak because dreams have become prison,
Defeat snores every night dying to speak because beauty has become colourless,
Defeat snores every night drowning to speak because faces have become flames to lovers who dared to cuddle or stare.
You leave fire in your lovers mouth when you kiss them,
You leave smokes in your lovers breathe when you leave them.
You carry troubles with bubbles, you carry darkness with madness.
Mouths that’ve loved should be filled with music, filled with rainbows, filled with sunrise, filled with stars and healthy faces.
Your lovers breathe smoke with the rope you left in their bodies while tying their breathe away; you left a plugged bulb in their mouth to burn what they know as smiles.
Nobody will love you with so much an old, abandoned, burnt, dilapidated building like yours,
Nobody can pretend with you, you’re a fast moving slow tea bag floating with garbages in your garage of boredom; you carry heartbreaks, betrayals, darkness, hate and burdens like your mother who died hawking her body for buyers who will name and call her rotten, decay and cancer.
Lovers died breathing your fart, some even wrote their eulogies after you while you’re still alive, it’s that horrible, bad to know because you’re a walking dead zombie.
Nobody can pretend with you, your body leads to the gutter where pathogens breed.
You’re been kidnapped in yourself to age fast, to go through with fasting and prayer to get your first bell jingle in your body which is a lonely church.
Who will sing in your church?
Who will worship in your church?
Your body is a church leading into the gate of hell.
Your smell rings a bell screaming, shouting, chanting and panting for suicide, gay and lesbian, it speaks by snoring to make a film on your weak retina about sinners burning in hell and shouting hallelujah.
Your smell is a bell awakening ghost and phantoms to begin a kingdom, empire that will fall.
Ask for help, you’re dying.
Seek for light, you’re lost.
Nobody will love you with the face you’re hawking for lovers, hawking for families, hawking for friends, hawking for cures from the disease wrapping all your bodies.
Nobody can pretend with you, your bells are cries for help, tears for assistance, wailing for rehabilitation, it’s a jingle into the jungle sojourning for miracle.
You leave fire in the thigh of your lovers, you leave bombs in the thumbs of your lovers, things like you sting more than bees, beings like you burn dying, falling, frying like fireflies.
You need help, you’re falling apart, drifting aghast, wasting alone like a forgotten Jew roaming about in a jewel of marvels.
You snore like a whore without shame with a name.
Everyone you love ends up dying counting your demons, chasing your phantoms, saving your wretched body from exploding from the nuclear reactor in your smiles.
Your smiles are miles apart from your heart, you smile to smell, you smile to hell, you kiss to hiss, you walk lifting dust everywhere to bury the wind.
Ask for help, you’re shattered.
Run for help, you’re bitter.
Nobody can pretend with you, your smell is ringing a bell for apocalypse; nobody can call you beautiful and believe it until they die to lie down worshiping the real you wrapped with the rainbow.
Paul Oluwafemi David is a Nigerian who fell in love with poetry watching the beauty of nature, he is a student of professor Wole Soyinka and Ben Okiri. Currently he is a student doctor at the college of human medicine university of Nigeria with a strong mandible for the wonders of the universe. He has been published in AFRICANA, AFRICAN WRITER and PRAXIS MAGAZINE. His work is about to be published in TUCK, BANGALORE and KALAHARI.
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University)
