Brothel Trauma



Brothel Trauma

In the rooms full of
decayed-dream scent
the oldness of the doors
opens to a wet disappointment
fake orgasm symphonies permeated into the walls
arabesque slogans are spelled on the mirrors.

The woman is the rebel acrobat
of pain on the barbed wires
strained between life and death
she stitches up the torn desires at her pubic
passes through the nitric acidic nights
as laying her head on the shoulder of hope
dirty banknotes occupy
the rough geography of lust.

Serkan Engin

Yorumlar