By Paridhi Puri
crumbled up in thin packages of light,
my voice filters my tongue as it gasps and gulps for tiny syllables to hold on to,
a rail passes down by throat, on tiny wheels fashioned from the blanket of the sky, rotating, revolving, revelling around my tiny cords,
as they play see-saw with my mood swings
and silence chokes it into two.
a hanging, dilapidated memory of sorts,
left to decay on the floor of my chest.
as the air tries to engulf the blood, and the blood tries to engulf the air.
i feel possessed of wanting aches pressed in my lungs,
because it resurrects mere marks of consciousness
stapled on my skin
for the world to unsee.