By Suveeksha Viswanathan
A towering ceiling fan, an untrustable axle, making my slumber my last. A rope casted round their neck, felicitous ants floating on a jar full of honey. A placid, vile snake you were, warm, loving scales coiling, I the hen unaware. A frolicking raven is to a wolf, a hook to an eye. An eye for a scrumptious meal she had. Lamenting for I too the same he felt. Bulwarks toppled, a way to their hearts made effortlessly. Money into these voracious jaws I fed. Now, a twitching honeybee on the ground. The poison of the nectar. Life ebbing me slowly. Readily digested, the pitcher now awaiting. An open operculum. A stone to her mouth, for her time too shall come.