Murderous mood

I shouldn’t murder my sister

The imaginary one, of course

She was nice and we had great conversations

The white walls were always her inspiration

She would paint horses

Talking horses, at least that was my impression

They had verses around their mouths

I remember asking her if they could fly

She leant her head to the right

Like a painter

No, that is a cliche

It is enough that rhymes are hanging from their snort

And then, just then I killed her

I wasn’t furious or frustrated or anything

Only that her imagination was tight around my skin

4 thoughts on “Murderous mood

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    Another finely honed exposition of existential dread, with a trope here from classic black and white Hitchcock,another trope there from “Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?” ,The reader winds up successfully gaslighted by the author,

    Reply
  2. Nalini srivastava

    This verse is like a verbal dessert to my inner being.The imagery painted is nothing less than a masterpiece. If only I was a painter I would have loved to paint the thoughts.

    Reply

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