By Nadia Irshād
New Paragraph
When the Prince gets out of bed
he struggles to look at himself in the mirror
pupils shrunken, he discards a mask to reveal another
Here, he doesn't own a single crown
In the immaterial realm he has stacks of them
His ritual continues as he sets his window display
accenting it's corners with headlines, setting one-liners as focal points
curtains are hung to hold his dissatisfaction
He miscalculated the morning he decided to take a ride on these rapids
I dissolved the glue that holds it all in place
crushing the display and dissolving the mask
the tempest took it all in the end
This Prince is no frog I'm afraid
he is a vacuum
the effects of which I was vaccinated from
by continuous reinfection, after infection
His venom became my antidote
Charged antibodies
Anti(you)
(protect this)Body