By Aratrika Das
Felt it was the last time, I closed a door,
The door of darkness, with tragedies of folklore
Happened again, and I felt such a great dread,
As I lay awake, in the cage of my bed.
I saw it again, the blood collecting like dew,
Forbidden is the laugh, of anything new
I saw it again, the weapon by my arm,
Saw my reflection falling apart, saw inevitable alarm.
Felt like déjà vu, like a heroic tragedy,
Thought myself to be stronger, my actions unforeseen
Stab the sword in my chest, twist out my soul,
I’ll paint with my blood, until I become whole.
It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s completely me,
I hate how I am, like an unknown memory
My heart aches in sorrow, as I fade to dust,
My eyes already buried, my hand refusing to trust.
I’ll rip out my heart, and shove it down my throat
I’ll shut me up forever, as I try to stay afloat,
Burdening, useless, my glow is momentary,
My bliss was a legend, as I walked through the cemetery.
The roar was valiant, what a bland goodbye,
I’m a coward who claimed, to be a lion
It’s too loud, too jarring, I just want to die,
The chains of sadness, with tears in my eyes
My combat skills, have gone to flames,
I’m not ready for it all, I don’t want to play
I’ll be by myself, in a bubble of my grief,
I’ll turn my aches, into sighs of relief.
I can’t anymore, let the world take me whole,
I’m tired and wretched, from the bottom of my soul
I’m not fit to live, I deserve to die,
But I failed times four, even if I cry.
And here as I sit, with my forearm in flames
I keep eyeing, the bulge of my veins,
One specifically, along my wrist
With one swipe of a blade, I’ll be able to forgive.