by NAMITA SUBERI
The thing is, it is like baring your soul, entirely
like peeling a fruit, to get to the essence of it.
After that, nothing is the same, your soul
It is naked, stripped off of its armour, or cages
And shortly, you’re caged in by fear, the phobia.
Whatever half-assed reasons you give yourself
to help you sleep at night, it doesn’t work.
Trust me, it doesn’t.
While you wallow day and night, trying to mend
the damage you did, fretting over the inevitable.
The sneaky bastards whisper that your soul is
Enough to be devoured by those with faces,
Innocent in sight, but multiple in nature.
Pity that none have gigantic fangs, nor capes.
That’s how it is, mate!
You never know when they strike.