Zeba Mehdi
I am a rain fed cloud,
Dark heavy and full.
Not the one with a gentle breeze, on the first of monsoon
But the one leading to a cyclone.
I prefer destruction.
I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky,
To vanish, to burn into ash.
I wake up every morning to just fall back to sleep and never wake up again.
The sunlight burns me and the curtains are always closed.
Sleep gives me the peace I dont find in happiness,
And I escape to a world in my minds eye.
My room smells of ash and whiskey,
And my arms are covered in burns, as I close my eyes and burn myself with lighted cigarettes,
And in that moment the demons seize to exist, in that moment my brain quiets down the voices screaming Inferno.
I try to drown in the shower,
To melt away with the water.
But I can’t and so I sit there as the water pours down, naked and red eyed, and I feel the blood, as I claw myself, just to make somebody listen, to listen to the anguish ,to the pain, the feeling of existential crisis.
I am labelled a psychopath-
My dead eyes, the scars that tattoo my body,
I have no reason,
I scream and cry and I have no reason.
I sit at the table trying to eat, but I can’t and I find myself vomiting
In the bathroom, everything coming out the blood, the body parts, the destruction.
I hate myself, I hate the sun,I hate the wind, I hate the voices in my head.
My body rots away, slowly and I feel like my heart has stopped beating.
I fail to touch myself,
I fail to listen,
I fail to stand up, and I fail.
I fall down, on the cold hard floor, my body as cold as the Ganges in January.
Nothing warms me, not the cigarettes, not the whiskey, not the blankets, not the sun.
And at night when the waxing and waning moon shines in all its glory,
I sit there sipping a bottle of whiskey, drunk.
I contemplate death,
I contemplate the winged monster and when I will meet her , when she will embrace me with open arms.