• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 09

Cognitive Red Incongruence

I put on my pinkish fantasy piercing dress
And walked naked into a day of shady events
Out of the blues, she just descended
As if from the presidential suite
Marking another territory in her race to win all

With that staid maid status
A peacock feather lust in a brown cocoon
Somewhat ageing smattering of ideas
Beleaguered goals and abandoned plans
The tone was particularly harsh yet pliant
I nudged my cognitive slumber to register any sense
There we go. Am I back to business?
More heads to roll.
Each word emanating from her pursed parched lips
Scraping through my eardrums, scalding my veins leading to the heart
Yet, the job must be done.
My conscience is loaded with empathetic justifications of my deeds
All those who suffered at my hands, must've have uttered,
Even during their subconscious state of flight to the eternity…
What a kind assassin!
I befriend, beseech, believe, betray
I berate, bereave, behead
I am that ultimate discrete machine that Machiavelli
Would love to boast about
I am stubborn but I am fluid
My gender is fluid yet my heart is static


Cognitive Red Incongruence

I have none – no heart as an idea
I am just my mind that doubles as surrogate heart
I am a red incongruence
Silent, violent and adorable.