Visions of Carcosa – Poetry Series #1

my body is a battlefield

of wounded soldiers trampled – a bright blood red

of wounds that never heal

of quests unfulfilled;

the world spins on its own crooked axis,

reaping off prophets filled with dreams – shards of glass with razor, ragged edges

who sell their souls to the webbed devil


two-faced gremlin lurking in the shadows of ruin.

they die twice over, once on their

immaculate machines, their

ennui-filled voids brimming with the throng of the


the wicked,

the abominable,

& again in their small, rented apartments,


death-sticks & hasheesh, weeping to no end-

their muffled cries echo around the chamber of lies,

their shrines of jilted nightmares,

of induced catatonia, slicing their throats when they sleep.

my body,

aches in certain places:

the blood coagulates, courses through,

a steady heartbeat with a flitting death wish;

a forest brimming with

forgotten lovers & the gutted remains of samurais

their blades marking the end of rebellion.

the crow gets its vengeance,

hovers over corpses, with its sleek, metal body

as my automated limbs write away

picking up empty words, phrases, declarations

that lull the ravaged towards

a barren wasteland, where hybrid legions sprout,

the vegetation reeks of betrayal,

& the ocean, bleeds.

the trickster lion slips a dose of compliance in my daily coffee,

& I drink, till my skin is soaked in the shame of mediocrity:

he lurks around the corners of my mirrors, dripping pus & entrails,

flooding my vision with the horror of tomorrow.

the demon

rests & hunts & guts & lies

upon my chest, heavy with love for unbloomed stories

they fester & wither,

snaking around like the curse of a gargoyle,

i transform

into the


i had sworn to behead in my lifetime.

About Debopriyaa: 

Wildly passionate about poetry and cinema. Maddened by the idea of beauty.

Steeped in bleak nihilism & idealistic hope at the same time, Debopriyaa believes that art, & only art,  has the power to heal, disrupt, & transform.