Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

"Tell me again, where is it you stop and the succubus begins? Why is it that once we separated we both ceased to exist?" A vanishing act, in two parts. Act One : My pitiful proposal right in the middle of study circle was the first arrow to pierce your unfeeling heart. A feat more noble than neon on the periodic table. And you? If you were an element, it would be gangrene, the way you suddenly appeared and immediately created a crime scene. A biohazard more toxic and lethal than Fukushima. You radiated light, and at first glance I was blinded. Now that each individual shard of shrapnel has been plucked from my silver eyes, I see that you were nothing but nuclear. Once a dream within a dream, until you decayed and became a fucking nightmare within another godforsaken nightmare. Like those matronly Russian nesting dolls, but instead made up of demons, until there was nothing left but desolation. Act Two : What happened to the wide eyed hopeful freshman that I met handing out...

Engaged in reckless abandon, self-medicating as I gamble. I grow more weary as I persist, as I become more promiscuous. Am I the victim of KIDNAPPING, where they took my BRAIN, as I fought them off with fists? ANOTHER abductee gone missing— but they won't break my spirit, even if they take away my WINGS. DIAGNOSED in an anti-septic hallway, though I still remain unconvinced. I refuse to be an EXPERIMENT; I am nobody's test subject. One SATURDAY, a PATTERN emerged  that was disturbing; it began  with DELUSIONS of grandiosity.  I may feel spurned now,  but I'm still learning. If only this INSOMNIA  would just let me sleep.

Tough as diamonds, I still stutter. Even equipped with spirit real resilient. Titanium temper you can't tamper. Bullet proof; I am bone brilliant. No weapon could wage war against me. You are Hiroshima to my bomb atomic. Hydrogen gases could never harm me. Napalm nor nitrous oxide could phase me. When I fell to this planet, I crash landed. Rode in careening on a comet. Like obsidian, I am igneous; volcanic. Concrete, cinder-block, ceramic. Jackhammer my stone heart in the street, chances are the road will crack before me. I survived storms, and tsunamis; scaled sorrows, climbed calamity. Rappelled into the fiery pits of Hell, wrestled with remorse, and reversed spells. I can't be destroyed now—I refuse it. My lights may flicker, but they won't finish.  Any attempts to break me will prove fruitless. Diamond life of mine can't be cut open.

Blood of my blood that runs scarlet red, rivers that rage through my DNA, these parts of me they can't be changed, they make me a sinner and also a saint.  Forest fires devoid of rain nearly burnt my body to a crisp, orange were the embers that remained, as I maneuver through life's malevolent marigold maze.  Yellow bellied and afraid to admit I was different from the rest, still, society and its rules sought to suppress my truth, now, as I seethe under the saffron sun while she sets, life gave me lemons so I shaped them into bullets  I embarked on my adventure to fulfill Emerald City dreams, once I evicted my ego, I was no longer envious or grisly green, as I adopt the lotus position for deep reflection, nothing could feel quite as successful as I do whilst meditating. Awash in the blues, I was drowning in my own sorrows, sinking in streams of sapphire sadness, these were the lessons that led to greatness. Insecurities that were once unappealing, ignited, erupting i...

Burgundy bells blared brittle, like bread; savoury silk suddenly singed my silent skin. Chocolate chimes chased charcoal chalk, talking toasters tingled tangled trucks. A hissing whistle wilted hitters,  tittering critters tinted cisterns. Blisters erupted belittled erasers; cauldrons bubbled creation's blazer. A shock of sterile antiseptic. Christmas tastes light blue like plastic. Sometimes seasons sound unfamiliar, and stranger than a static splinter.  Sirens arouse sentiments unpleasant, sharp like spies and estranged sisters. That's when I just grin and bear it— colourblind is chaos in its brilliance.

Eyes like the silhouette of Sicilian sunsets so majestic. A marble mind carved carefully, with time; prophetic. His humour could sell out shows at the Apollo. With a sensitive flair, and sun-kissed hair, his will be a hard act to follow. Roman nose, defined, and Aquiline; his every feature is disarming. Floating through my Venetian canals, this Florentine was a natural prince charming. But most importantly, his heart was Hercules, and his spirit was prosecco sweet. He would die a thousand times trying to fulfill your every single dream.  Pray to the Vatican, that we should never part, I'm Juliet, he's Romeo.  This boy has captured my heart.

G lorious gigantic greenery filled fantastic flights of thievery. A thimble; a thin, symbol of servitude, as symmetrical as pulchritude. Beauty surrounds all the things we do, sometimes it's in taupe, others in blue. Grabbing at levitating atoms lies a grisly, gnarled rattle. Games of houndsteeth, patches of crimson, line sterile streets with seeds and peat, like we're in prison. Catfish catch us at our weakest, when we're desperate, in secret. A candid snapshot of us on Tuesday, mothers no longer tell us who's gay. Geysers, canals of chaos create my cityscape, Typhoons wash our troubles off to seabreak. Hyperventilating, so I take away my hand. Hold onto me as we spin, I'll add vision to your wasteland. With fingers tousling your green hair, my lips will kiss you til you grin. Crafty soldiers hold my ego hostage, until you became my breakfast sausage. When we, crystallize then come together, we never separate for stormy weather. Call me wh...

Losing my mind was like swallowing hot coals—it stole the words from off my tongue. A treason like no other, even though we anticipate that it will burn. Embers lit up my mouth from the inside, like walls of a cavern lit entirely by torch.  When my brain malfunctioned, my grasp on reality suddenly became loose. Unraveling like serotonin silly string until all that remained was one big knot. As my sanity escapes, all that was left is a pile on the floor of mess.  I lose track of time as I obsess about an idea that evolves into branches that make up a nest. Twigs of delusion turn into entire trees when subjected to neglect. Dopamine twice a day does nothing to improve my self-respect. I search the seafloor for something familiar to swim alongside with, making my way upstream until I can tell fish apart from their tailfins. Saved crocodile tears in a sandcastle—oysters reveal pearls of oxytocin alabaster. It is finding yourself in quicksand sinking faster than a s...

If Coco Chanel played by the rules herself then there would be no iconic Number Five, but ever since this mademoiselle raised Hell, the fashion world was fiercely brought to life. Indira Gandhi's ruthlessness is how she rewrote India's history, waging war for independence, she was a state of emergency. Dancing her way to the top of the charts, Madonna's world tours sold out at every stop. She used sex as a weapon to open her heart, until she became the reigning queen of pop. Refusing to slave another day,  Harriet Tubman was determined to be free, this renegade helped others run away, on a route to the north country. Some women prefer chains and oppression,  so they silently accept all that is unfair. This is why the good girls go to Heaven,  but the bad girls go everywhere.

I suppose even the most nefarious entities are desperate for an identity,  creating their own corroded communities through engaging in impunity. Erecting idols of their enemies  & slandering their friends,  scrutinizing all the others when it should be them under the lens.  Delusion, like psychosis, has dust mites thinking they're superior; as they sit and compare battle scars although they're dazed & delirious.  Their obsession with made up offenses dines on them like a predator, until a patchwork of paranoia peers back from every reflection. You wanted to curse others,  now you got it back times three,  abandoned by your own mother,  now all you have left is me.  Reader beware:  you're long overdue for a scare.  Surprise, you spooky bitch,  bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. Cockroaches possess the common sense to evade certain death,  a...