I cannot claim to see storms. But I’ve been taking slow poisons. I was the girl who would be in the gallows for an extra minute or two just to see how strong I was to withstand the pain. I was the girl who would laugh at funerals, I was too naive to see the dark side of pain, I always wanted to be friends with pain, and pain did not accept me. It was too scared to let me near itself as I did not know what sin tasted like. I saw good in everything, like my name, I used to think I could ignite anyone’s world, some part of me still does.
I hide myself behind curtains of my ego and achievements, how I am always under control and doing well in life. Only glass I broke that night and woke over it knows the real me. My mind is in a constant battle to lose my sanity and being the best. I have been telling myself that I need nobody so many times that I somehow believe in it, I have never let a single soul embraced my soul completely, not even my ex lover, maybe that’s why I still feel things. I feel undiscovered. I don’t want to be. Because humans, they don’t stick to you.
The clock ticks away and a reflection is seen in the shadows of a silver mirror glittering with the cold blue rays of the moon in the death deep of the night. Its amber shadow behind cascades over the cracked wall depicting a deep over hunted flesh. As the whitewash flakes away, the shadow scratches away in infuriating and screaming voice. A gust of wind blows, trying to bandage the excruciating inferno. “I told you about the holocaust, why thee came in a world so graceless?”, The grave breaks the smothering silence. The ghost whispers, “If I had a chance to be alive again, I’d choose my life to be taken away a million times for never had I pleasured a more solacing spasm.” It started raining and needled cold drops began pricking the soft leaves of the oak tree in the abandoned meadow of forgone light. There was no reflection in the mirror as the moon had hidden behind the dusty clouds, nor was there any shadow left. But the cracked paint crippled and flaked down with the moist of the rain mustered in the putrescent walls. It helped the ghost borrow some tears from the wall to cry for it had no matter in it left. Nothing is saddening but the pain of not having to die again. For not having a chance to kill your damaged self and reincarnate yourself. Ghosts don’t cry over living once, they mourn over the agony of getting to die once. Die a thousand times and come out alive by thousand-and-one, until you become one of them.
I see her tears as drops of water trickling down a cup of a pale shade. I see her hands tied up with grief like they are chained with expectations of the impossible. She wasn’t hard to love, all she wanted was a rope of empathy. I couldn’t see what hell she went through just to be mine. I couldn’t see the thirst she had of making me happy. I couldn’t see how persistently she coped up with my flaws, my anger, my inconsistency, my vulnerability to get stray. I couldn’t tell her I am not ready to catch her when she falls. I was driven by society. I didn’t make her my friend because she was just an element of a relation for me. I didn’t regret at my weaknesses because I was complacent. She expected me to go out of the flow but I was happier in following the threads of society. Once for a moment I did not think about her strength. I stretched her like a rubber band expecting it to go as further as I wanted to take it, and she stretched limitlessly. I stretched whispering her not to worry, you have to go as far as you can. You are made for me. But I can’t do anything about myself, nor I can regret at my flaws. Because it’s me. Its the society. Its the pleasure. Its the way. I cannot swallow the bitter tablet of loving you. I cannot go out of the way because I deserve the ease and you must swallow it only as you have to.
I’ll love you from a distance. I don’t want pleasure from you. I’ll let you consume me, fill myself up with all the fume you give me and perish to nothing. With every lie, with every secret, I’ll let you win. I became addicted as soon my lips met yours, I’d burn myself as you glow with full guard of youth coated with fallacy. Your fair recrimination and pretty accusation give me the true pleasure of pain. I’ll love getting wasted like the ashes; the smoke filling your soul with my intense love. A love so intense that would cease all your pain and give you an ecstasy of a lifetime.
- My eyes are stained with my own tears and my skin is bruised with my own nails. The fire in me has scarred my waters and the waters in me have extinguished my spark.
- “Why I must be feeling weak and strong at the same time.”
- “To love true, you must be blind in one eye.”
- “What will I see with the other eye?”
- “Your beloved”
And that’s how I realized I have to earn true love.
You’re within my heart, every inch of my skin knows you, my lips have felt every ridge of your fingertips and my eyes have gazed into your whisky-toned galaxy of a hypnotizing universe. You melt me like a magma that beautifully eats up the sparkle of fresh snow. There’s always a trance on me. And I’m never in control when my mind wanders into your silk lips that pour droplets of molasses on my lips and I come to life. My ribs are crumbling into dust under the power of your magic and I cannot breathe anymore. You give me life.
A sharp pain hits to the core of my spine and I feel the urge to scream. What I realize, those were the creases of my bedsheets that woke me up from the haze. The scorching sun burns my eyes and there’s an acid in the air being sprayed in my eyes. No. Tell me it was real. Where do I put the cracked glass? I selfishly hold on to this like it will always be the way it is.
“Hold my hand and water the dead plant”
Why don’t you see it’s dead? Why don’t you?