For the Hell Of It

I enjoy watching the blossom fly up, up, up, high into the air only to hit my window and fall back, back, back, down-down again-to hit the hard and heavy soil I’ve been trying to drown for weeks. My books are painted with gold leaf and green and my rings are starting to turn the tips of my fingers yellow. My rabbit is eating a carrot and it is orange. Sometimes I feed him ripe fruits and we walk through the park together. I am free whilst he trails along on a leash. Life is but a moment, a moment which is to be lived. Unless if I strip it of all its significance and magnify my neuron in this sentence. Stop. Breathe.

Air.

Is.

Good.

Maybe I’ll grate chocolate for a while until all the silver melts away from the pans. It gave my parrot food poising last week and he hasn’t moved since then. He lies upside down like roast pork the right way up waiting for Henry the Eighth to pull-andrip-at a chicken’s leg before he takes a bite out of the apple sitting in the pigs mouth-

Why?

Just for the hell of it…

Dilpreet Kaur Walia

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