Pratikshya Satapathy Poems

Let me spit venom
without having to sip it first.
Let me call out the names
of ghosts that live inside living people;
...

I am manufacturing a life.
That's the most accurate word for it.
Manufacturing.
...

Between nerve and nerve
something feels so broken.
The salt scalds,
and keeps the wound awake.
...

If the world won't unravel,
then let me.
Let time bleed ink on my hours,
let now be a wound
...

Suddenly your veins are no longer yours.
Scaffolding around the lungs.
Wet cement in the throat.
You become a building
...

I left you long before i let go.

I left you inside a vending machine.
Row B: things no one really wants but still buys at 2 a.m.
...