The barbed wire looks like another snake.
Its skin is sour, runs sleek, but its knots
cut deep into the fork of my tongue.
The hollow thing, its muscles braid
around a fence. Its sharp skin breaks
my scales. Its eyes are the glint of sun
against sheen, and nothing good
can grow on thorns like these.
Sirrudeen Nahar (they/them) experiments with different mediums to enflesh the ideas that compel them. INSTA BSKY
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