Prose & VersePubs


My shadow lurks behind me
On a crooked plain I tread

Nailed prophet oozes blood
Accursed wounds refuse to heal

My heart morphed into plastic toy
Incessantly beats the shit out of
Every vessel that leads to its chamber.

Author: monami mukherjee

Poet, Blogger, Undergrad Professor. Literature and film enthusiast. Excited about both critical and creative writing.

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