By Jigyasa Singh
the bleakness of a house with walls basked in inky light, space dripping from a height in the near distance, circles that rouse glinting with the forged pretense of a benign presence
movement of the moon, cyclic shadow changes too soon two, three, four more faces spriling across the room, it stands at your level never switch on the flashlight if you shall never go feral
as your gut prickles and something slithers,
from the walls to your hair and a stare bores in, cradles your back don't turn if you shouldn't wish to learn, that in the near distance with its nape fallen on one shoulder and a newer cresent drenching the running faucets it ponders the plight, looking at your sockets to be or not to be then in a wonder, as you fiddle to resist with all my might i decide to subsist and inquire "hello, isn't it beautiful tonight?"
By Jigyasa Singh
great 👍