Wickedness of the Mind. 

A sinewy man resides in the shadows

 Of my shanty home. Darkness is his

Continual ally, I am told. He never comes

Out and here I am, waiting for an ambush.

Everyone tells me I see things, I hear people

And I imagine scenarios. Nevertheless, I let

My imagination run wild; like the unhinged

Bulls of Spain. I yearn for his touch; I desire so

Much. I wait for the day when he will acquaint

Me with his companion-darkness. I too will

Meddle in-without an ounce of hesitation or

Sporadic jolts of excitement and a disheveled mind. 

Hi everyone! If anyone reads past the poem, please read this CAREFULLY. This is one of my favorite poems that I have written and much to my surprise, this has been rejected by many literary magazines in the past two weeks. Therefore, I want to hear your opinion, your words. Tell me why this poem got rejected. And, tell me how I can improve my writing. Please help. 

Other than that, it’s that time of the year, you know, when you get rejected by various colleges overseas and turn ominous in a split second. That is me right now. Nevertheless, I hope this poem lifts your spirit somehow. 

Yours forever, 

Avantika. 

The scaly fingertip. 

The tips of my fingertips have been
Used until they have been overused.
The papers I behold with my fingers all
Day have led to the disappearance of
My identity, in a way. My uniqueness has diminished to a point where it is no longer unique. I trace the tips in
a rhythmic fashion until this motion tires me out and my mind wanders to arbitrary trips to the grocery store to buy eggs and milk. As my eyes close on their own accord, I dream of insane things.

Note to readers-This poem is primarily based on the scientific fact that your fingerprints start fading as you age and faster when you handle lots of paper or lime.

Your welcome. I know you like it when i tell you facts out of the blue.

I hope you have a great day. Spread smiles!

Avantika.