If There Was Anything That Could Bite A Man

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 06, 2018

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Submitted: May 06, 2018



Not the deadliest sting of the venomously dancing scorpion; perpetually waiting to crawl on naked skin and pierce its hindside deep down into streams of innocuous scarlet blood,

Not even the menacingly insatiable army of ants; ardently dreaming of nothing else but triggering a volcano of unbearable redness; as they stealthily clambered upon the most invisible patches of skin,

Not even the most savagely gleaming knives; who yearned to sadistically chop anything and everything in vicinity; into a trillion pieces of livid meaninglessness,

Not even the most despairingly morose dungeons; who wanted to devour every conceivable source of life in the blooming atmosphere; forever into a graveyard of demonic blackness,

Not even the most ominously parasitic leeches; who started to hideously slither as if starved since a thousand centuries; at sighting the most orphaned droplet of blood splattered on the grave,

Not even the most invidiously smoldering embers of the bonfire; whose sole mission in life was to burn every trespassing soul to an unrecognizable death; a most perfect vindication for their dreadfully miserly state of now,

Not even the most incapacitated of oblivious rusty iron nails; who knew they could cause many an inexplicably traumatizing disease; apart from a corpse of woeful blood; once they pugnaciously stung,

Not even the most perilously sinister sheets of sinking mud; who wretchedly suckled you to the rock bottom of incarcerated darkness; with an ease as inanimate as a ghost passing unscathed through the wall,

Not even the most forlornly thwarting silence; a web of preposterously crucifying loneliness trying its best to trap every life of bustling energy; only to be eaten by the spiders of hell,

Not even the gullibly hissing snakes; whose singleton kiss of the lips  on pristine life; led to the most irrevocably silencing mortuaries of death; an agonizing extinction which brutally paralyzed all existence,

Not even the most tyrannical wells of unending sarcasm; which plagued every creatively brilliant spark that rose from the mind and soul; with the devil's altar of jinxed negativity,

Not even the most disdainfully lethal smokescreens of adulteration; which yearned every unveiling instant to usurp everyone on earth; in their murderously cancerous swirl,

Not even the most abysmal gorge of hopeless desperation; which perpetuated every sane entity on the trajectory of the planet; to become a maniac who asymmetrically plundered for raw flesh and blood,

Not even the most dreadfully conniving satans of hell; who devised endless insidious ways and means to torture you after you died; and were sent to their custody in your fecklessly frigid after life,

Not even the most despondently amorphous walls of monotony;  which unsparingly marauded every infinitesimal ounce of newness around with carcasses of penalizing routine,

Not even the most heartless cauldrons with meat butchered into a zillion pieces; where the most priceless of emotions were hacked to the most indescribably torturous death; shockingly alive,

Not even the most ominously wailing streams of blistering lava; launching an assault of an unimaginably distorted and instant death; as it fervently prayed for the very first living step to transgress its way,

Not even most ghoulishly jangling skeletons of nothingness; whose sole purpose lay in scaring the daylights of optimism from the innermost realms of your soul; make you one of their own even in the pinnacle of your robust life,

But if there was anything that could indeed bite a Man till beyond an infinite of his lives and deaths-Then it was only the infidelity of the woman whom he'd given his heart; the woman whom he truly loved.

© Copyright 2018 Nikhil Parekh. All rights reserved.

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