By Kaustubh Vemuri

This liquid pricks me,

trickles down and caresses

my body subtly with strength,

the cold encompasses my skeleton

smoothly and the wafts wriggle their way

into my minuscule gray matter. I gulp gallons

of this enticing entity like a mosquito’s proboscis

does blood, but these gallant gallons never seem to seep

inside my sore soul but rather drip in drops down my maw.

It hits me hard as I make my way, winding around the willow,

as the widow waltzes through my thoroughfare, reeling, gasping,

hoping for redemption after mariticide. Paintbrush pointers in ellipses

run along the dew like a radar, penetrating the precipitate, pursuing a poor

portrait, anticipating to carve a personal code across the crystal road, the jade

blade and the amber layer; an imprint of any kind. Along the path, souls do strive

to torment me but this condensed verdant carpet steers me to safety. Tyranny ties me-

the wavering vagrant with itself as I traverse the tiles insanely and stroll afar from my knoll,

searching a sane situation as this solvent guides me like a miscreant. I think that makes me a tru-

ant.

Kaustubh Vemuri is a freshman honors student in mechanical engineering. He considers himself to be a realist and is also a devout admirer of the aesthetical and psychological appeal in the writings of Joan Didion and Ernest Hemingway.