Saturday, August 29, 2009


Strangers passing in the street
By chance two separate glances meet
And I am you and what I see is me.

I take my hatchet, and bury it,
Deep into your skull, through hair bone grey,
It's messy, distasteful even (it reeks of Pulp Fiction)
But you keep smiling away.

Drop the glass, it's not hard,
Just a sharp crack, you'll live;
Shatter, shock, shards I survive,
Echoes, faint and blunt, kill.

- Prateek Agrawal


  1. I'd hit that..
    (Mensa, music, math I resist,
    Esoterica, honest and vulnerable, oh that long fat gorgeous pick.)