Red Carnations

Gorilla-like, I walk the street.
I spit on wounds, so they will heal.
I blink due to light and looked at my feet.
Memories of cakes and rose petals, my only meal.

This maniac inside screams.
This puppy-dog inside cries.
This optimist inside dreams.
While the life inside dies.

I stare; at hair.
I breathe; I sink.
No luck. Not fair.
This is all. I think.

My garden of red carnations has withered.

Varun Rajagopalan.