How to Fall Apart

You do it slowly, agonizingly

Remember the past as if it was

Another life, until it becomes so.

Realize that a photo changes

Every time you look at it.

Watch your phone, waiting

For it to ring, for loved voices

To fill your life with their stories,

And sigh when the phone never rings.

Sit somewhere solitary, probably with a view

Of an orange sunset fading into purple.

Feel parts of you that you thought were true

Leaving you, and feel the burn of it,

Like a bruise you realize you had

Only when it stings you while bathing.

Pin your expectations on something hazy,

Like people, or conversations, or the past,

And tell yourself again and again,

Life is not how you want it to be,

But still keep hoping for it to be.

Bedtime Story

Let me tell you a bedtime story.

A story which began a long long time ago

In a faraway place, hidden deep inside

Called the heart.

The heart led a happy life:

It would be happy as long as it listened

To her wise mother’s words, “Dear Heart,

Never visit your ugly neighbour, Memory”.

But one day Heart leapt across the gate

And paid a visit to Memory,

And this bedtime story is about

The sad results of this visit.

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This is a story about happy eyes

That turned dull, of smiles frozen,

Of days that dragged by, of

Forgettable people and fleeting joys.

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This is a story of numbness

And an all surprassing loneliness:

Of dejection, and a constant

Dull ache right below the skin.

.

It’s about always feeling cold,

The tips of your fingers constantly freezing,

About laughter and words sounding distant

And never experiencing a moment of silence.

.

Oh, do you not want to hear this story?

Then go to sleep, darling. But remember,

Sleep isn’t a safe place anymore;

That’s where those hands always find you.

Waiting

One day, I hope not to wait

Watching as you erase  me

In new faces, places and stations.

I do not want to always hear

Your hurried goodbyes, two and a half minute

Long conversations about how busy you are,

While your friends laugh in the background.

.

I do not want to watch my days go away

As I watch my phone to make it ring,

My decision to be cold and not pick up

Evaporating the moment I hear your hey.

.

One day I hope to be you

Letting places and people push me around

Then I will not have to try

To make you a memory, it would be too easy

To forget you in the time I am busy.

 

 

The Mouthless Woman

The drip of a leaky tap

Has turned into a gush of blood.

I am terrified of time:

Its malevolent, fickle movements.

The night no longer embraces me

In its absolute blackness:

I can hear all of its voices now.

I fear if I turn just an inch,

They will tear my skin off.

.

I find myself being afraid

Of so many, many things.

I am so full of secrets.

History’s pull is stringer now

I dare not imagine a future

Rid of yesterday’s scratches and screams.

.

I fear I will turn

Into the mouthless woman

Decked in her father’s sweat

And her mother’s tired expectations.

The mouthless woman is dangerous:

She lets him have her life.

More importantly, when she finds a voice

It will only say, “Keep your eyes down, dear”,

“Do not provoke them, daughter”,

Or worst, “you’ll grow up to be just like me”.

The Lovely Lady in Grey

Writing201: Poetry

Day#6 Prompt: Hero/Heroine, Form: Ballad, Device: Anaphora, epistrophe

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The children loved to wait in the way

Where walked the lovely lady in grey

Their lives were mostly sad blues

The lady’s smile gave it a brilliant hue.

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The children were poor, you see

Their clothes were torn and dirty.

But when walked the lovely lady in grey

They felt the beam of the brightest part of the day.

.

The children in wait every morning lay

For there walked the lovely lady in grey

She brought food, she lingered a while

They loved it best when she would smile.

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The children led rough lives in mean streets

And slept cold beneath tattered sheets

So when here walked the lady in grey

Her smile was like a pretty bouquet.

.

One day the lovely lady in grey looked in the mirror

And decided life wasn’t worth living with all the horror

Her death mattered to few, no flowers on her grave except

The wayside flowers picked by the children who wept

For the lovely lady in grey.

Travelling through the Inside of a Skull

BlogeHer Prompt for Friday, November 7: Where is the one place you would never want to go on vacation that other people seem to love?

I do not know why people so eagerly want

To read the map of other people’s minds

And travel through the inside of a skull.

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Don’t they know that the way is not safe?

Full of dark, dirty secretive streets,

Their foundations shaken, cracks everywhere?

.

The people so twisted, ugly and stupid

Ghastly shadows of what they are outside

Inside his head this is how he thinks of you

A rather smelly little shop, almost empty.

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The bed you sleep in after the day

So uneven you cannot sleep

The shadows the curtain sways to

Creeping into every corner of your head

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And when finally you leave that skull

And stop reading that map,

And come back to your own,

To realize with horror,

That place stands nothing in comparison

With the darkness of your abode?