There’s a weird restlessness,
sucking my blood,
weakening my bones,
pushing my soul on the edges of everything.
My hands are constantly shivering.
My legs are constantly trying to find balance.
My eyes are constantly denying to see.
My heart is ready to jump –
so that this restlessness ends somehow.
Seems like things are failing to keep my interest in this world.
Seems like I’m failing to keep myself in me.
Seems like graves call me in the night,
and the dead lure me with their peace.
The skeleton within me is desperately seeking a body.
The numbness within me is desperately seeking emotions.
The dead within me are desperately seeking life–
to live a bit more.
to cope with the barrenness of beauty.
I’m dumping them blindly –
does it go anywhere?
Is there any end?
I look in the mirror;
I see a ghost,
with a breathing heart,
caged in the world.
I fear what I see.
I see nothing and nothingness –
I can deal with the pain,
but numbness will put a dagger through my heart,
again and again;
won’t let me feel and mourn.
Numbness will bury my skeleton,
and seal my soul with nothingness;
making me surrender forcefully.
I fear what I have become.
I fear what I will become.
My heart wants to cry,
and scream so loud,
but there are no tears and voices left within,
it’s all barren, mute, and withered.
My throat has eaten my words.
My words have emptied my pages.
My pages have a musky smell of rotten poetry.
My rotten poetry tries to pull me from the edge of numbness.
Archita is a technical writer by profession. She writes to be honest with herself.