A self I have that kills when I am looking away

there I am decaying in

garbled words that escape my mouth,

divine intervention necessary

to keep me balanced on the ground,

as I burst open my tongue

throwing darts of mantras of

the language inherent in my nature

(which I would understand but I couldn’t),

.

that replies to stories of the future devised

that coils around my toes, up my thighs

piercing the heart with screeching pain

of ability hindered by self

that disintegrates with the slightest touch,

.

I am wicked, wane, vulturous, picking,

biting into my own putrid flesh

that reeks of ignorance and curse

of being the being that I am,

.

the night doesn’t offer condolences

but hypnotizes me in a lullaby

and the day virtuously smiles

keeping me adrift on a rowing boat

that only stays afloat to be falling apart,

.

they come and suck my vicious blood

to be cursed with my curse that is,

they arrive and leave their marks

which I rip apart to flow more of my self

as a bait for the poor enemy to consume me

before I dissect myself into pieces

spread on a broken road, lungs deflated,

stomach churning feet away, and my heart

in my palms, leaking, shrieking, as life

strangles it into numbness and there’s silence

.

Image source

Advertisement

Bruised

photo source

 

She was bruised.

“You have come so late. Where have you been?”

She silently drifted towards her room without answering and latched the door. And there she fell at that very position on her knees and the tears welled up in her eyes. Her mouth gaped open and a muffled voice of shock escaped her mouth. She bit on the curtain so as to prevent her wail be heard by anyone.

She was retching. She ran towards the washroom while bile rose up in the back of her mouth and she puked her miseries out.

She couldn’t believe what had happened with her.

“It is my fault.” She wiped away what was left of her mascara and lipstick and rubbed her papery white skin. The tears had dried out. She clawed at her face.

“It is my fault.” She faced the mirror.

“I am bruised and it is my fault.”

* Written in response of VisDare 27.