• prachii_ 6w

    Everyday, when I lie on my couch and ask
    the mirror, "why everyday?" And it shatters
    as I do. But, one of its broken pieces reaches
    me and guess what? After some time, it formed
    a unison with my blood. Afterall, that reflection
    in the mirror is me.
    My reflection in the mirror screams out, "you are
    a crepehanger".Well yes. The devil inside me
    is always waiting for a little spark to set ablaze
    my own self, leaving my soul behind. My own
    musings knocked me down. Only ny heart, and the
    pounding head, said that I was still alive.
    My wrath makes me swallow some pills, or
    pour some firewater over my fresh blood
    lying on the floor, gazing at me to add
    some more part of me to it. Yes, that's the hope.
    I get under the shower with my tears and
    blood accompanying the water,
    and the knife...drop by drop, drop by drop
    colours the floor red. The crave for
    my death is so beautiful. I look for
    my favourite colour cloth just to hang.
    My room smells of coffin nail lying over there
    in the ashtray near my pen and paper with
    a bottle of ink. I know, that is going to kill me
    one day and it gives me pleasure.
    Those Orphic nighthawks form a storm in
    my head and always voyage to hit the shore
    of my heart, and the sand under my feet
    slips off there, dragging me to the ocean.
    Not only my actions, but my own self makes
    me feel wicked, and what would I even expect
    on being maleficent every freaking time when
    my paroxysm starts a conversation with the encephalon.
    My solace resides in my melancholy.