lost in a labyrinth

 Aishee Ghoshal

I walk into class at 10:30 in the morning,
Half an hour late, my eyes red
Clothes smelling of weed and destruction.
I stare blankly at the ceiling at 2 a.m.
Before drowning myself in vodka- Drunkenly falling asleep dreaming of eternal sleep.
My therapist says it’s textbook self-destruction- But that suggests a wholeness of the self somehow
That the self is something worth destroying.
It is not simply an invisible, invincible monster inside you
That you want to kill.
This university- my home, my prison
Me and my friends, we dance to forget
The dance of destruction as we feel
the burn of whiskey on our throat.
Swallowing fire, spitting blood
A room full of smoke, the air stinks of mary jane.
Glazed eyes, we are the ones stuck on the other side
The skipping stones have sunk, the bridges have been burned. We would find our way back if it wasn’t for the smoke in our eyes.
So we sit, hotel California on repeat, each word
Plucks at a new heart-string.
“you can check out any time you like
But you can never leave.” And boy have we tried. How do you escape
What feels like home?
It is a prison of our own making, We have planted flowers here and there,
Pretended it was the garden of Eden,
But that is all it was- pretense.
There are many questions, and a handful of answers. We have romanticized the hell out of this- The stink of alcohol, a popular perfume
On your partner’s body, to the point where
It completely engulfs their smell,
They all smell the same- the same stink
On every use and throw body
It’s easier, it’s familiar.
They have kissed the same scars on your thigh
Over and over, wanting promises of no more scars
Hoping they would be the one to save you.
Scoff, Get in line. These lines of poetry on my wrist- No that is dishonestly poetic, let’s call them what they are
These self-harm scars, these lines on my wrist
Remind me not to cut, remind me where to cut.
But we are strong enough to stand upright
Play music as the ship sinks.
There are so many flavours of delicious destruction.
Burnt ash in a glass, we are a sad generation,
Buying our happiness at drug stores
Or from the dealer in a shabby home.
One day we will jump. One day we will fly.
Break free from this claustrophobic cage
One day, we will fly
Before we fall and shatter-
Disintegrate back to dust, mix in the soil of the earth
And say- We are free.
We are free.

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