Calling all poets. Submissins are open for Wingword Poetry Competition!

Foggy, slow, self slaughter

Bijayalaxmi Das

I woke in a room,
gushing in white,
from the bedsheet to the curtains,
to the blinding sunlight.

I woke up this noon,
right after that full moon.

what brings you to rock bottom,
how it all begins,
from the tiniest pieces accumulating,
to looking in the mirror into a devil's grin.

its so dark,
I almost cant breathe,
the suffocating silence,
as i slowly get used to the brain freeze

whom do you go to,
when everyone thinks you are wrong,
how many more times do you have to prove yourself,
to prove to them, that you are strong?

you try, you bleed, you fall,
you still don't lose control,
but then,
once and for all,
you just want the free fall!

you break from the real,
get attached to the elixir,
the drugs, the cigarettes,
whatever makes you feel lighter;

then they shame you again,
while you drown in your pain,
and you think to yourself,
'does it get any worse than this?'

and then they leave you to rot,
but all your life, you have been taught,
never to give up, so you fought
with the world, with yourself,
till it all felt a lot;

you were so blinded in pain,
that poison seemed like nectar,
the drugs, the coccaine,
and the blood splatter;

what felt like reincarnation,
was annihilation indeed,
she was self destructing herself,
but was there any more blood left to bleed?
you tossed her away, when she begged for help,
to be accepted without having to please,
but you wanted to shun her,
and look what she made,
a world of herself,
fogged in the smoke of her awakening.

She had almost given up that night,
but that noon, happened to be a new sunlight.


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