The night, we made love, you wanted to feel all my pain, between the gaps of your moans as i kept whispering my old lovers' names and handed you one of the knives that they had shoved in my heart you shoved it back in my chest, twisted it again. Because love, for you girl, is like a pinhole camera so my emotions flipped in your heart, clashed with your past like body scents in a crammed lift. In our life we either, suffocate in a gas chamber or turn our kitchen into one, So when you had pressed your lips against mine, I felt like I'm a survivor of the holocaust, learning to breathe again. But our love darling, is an evanescent one, like a week old vegetables in the fridge, or flowing ink turning lifeless to give life to someone's feelings. or a last second eye contact at the airport that says a harder goodbye than you can ever form with words. Now i walk zigzag on straight roads to count the stitches on my wounds. the knives are still in me, clanking, forming the perfect tune of goodbye that i could never whisper as you disappeared from my sight.
The poem in the background is an old one, it's inspired by Emily Dickinson's "I felt a funeral, in my brain."
This is bit too long, but I just couldn't stop typing. :') __________________________________________________________
Metaphors and pretty (sk/l)ies
Time was running out and so were my breaths, all I could do was sit on the broken bed, one that resembled my heart and count the tiles of the pale green, mildewy room. Even their number was more than mine. I'd soon fade away like the dreams that linger in your dawn, before you can even fathom, there's no trace left. Would I be an innocent dream you'd long for even after it evanesces or a nightmare that would haunt you no matter how much you run away?
A heavy pressure in my chest constricts all the emotions again, I feel suffocated in my own feelings, was death a way out? Should I embrace it or disregard it too, the way I did myself, all my life.
Once you realise how little time you have, your mind goes back to all the things you could've done, the chances you let slip away from your grasp instead of all the sweet memories you gathered. There's always room for regret, it's a stubborn one.
There was a guy who promised to love me forever. When he held my hand and our fingers entwined, I could see how forever would look like. He was everything I couldn't ever imagine love to be like. They say look for your father in the guy you want to fall in love with, and I'd decided then that if that was so then I'd never fall in love. A good father does not guarantee a good lover. But he was both and my promise teetered a little as he held my breath with his eyes, and now they were running out. Bad things happen to good people, it's the universal law. But was I a good one? It's a complicated question. I pushed him away, like the wreck I was, why pull someone so perfect in your mess?
A 23 year old with 2070000 breaths left, a tragedy right? Maybe it wasn't, or maybe it was. All my life I asked for a way out from my cursed reality, and now that I was getting one, why was I faltering? Maybe because there was a tiny hope somewhere inside me that wanted(longed) for a fresh start, death wasn't the way I wanted an out. I was stronger than that, right?
My words always contradicted my feelings, I sang symphonies of happiness and hope and strength, when I was devoid of them all. I painted the skies with hues of red and lilac when grey was the only shade in my pallete, and they called it a masterpiece. How easy it is to fool people, to beguile them with charming lies, perfect poems and half hearted smiles. No one cares to take a deeper look, we are all buried in our own miseries.
A tall women with high ponytail entered the room with a soft smile, one I was too familiar with, that of pity. She wore a blue sparrow brooch on her white coat, it signified hope. Hope was the only thing I was left with now. Her talking interrupted the chaos in my brain and all my thoughts scattered just like that. I couldn't make out a word she was saying, I was too busy thinking about my next poem, hope would be the theme.
I just nodded when she stopped and she left, with that same smile.
He entered my thoughts again, he did that a lot these days, my heart still longed for him, but my brain always convinced me that it was the right thing too do. It was, right? I started to drift into a slumber with conflicting thoughts in my mind, a whirlpool of emotions, too tired to sort them, I was now.
A soft caress on my cheek brought me back to the reality and as I looked up to find who would it was, I wish I hadn't. There he stood, like an angel with tears glistening on his dry skin, because of me. How did he know where I was? Why was he here? As if reading my mind, he murmured in a gentle tone, "I promised to hold your hand till my last breath, did you think I'd break it? But why? Why would you push me away like that? Was our love not strong enough to hold onto?" Before I could answer, he kissed me softly and his lips uttered something I couldn't make out, I love you, maybe.
I loved him, that's why I did it, I wanted to tell him. But when I opened my eyes, I was greeted by the same pale room, hollow air and nothingness. Were hallucinations a part of my treatment? I couldn't remember. Was he even real?
Salty tears on my parched lips released a violent sob that I did not know I was holding. And there I broke down, the aftermath was messy.