A sleepless night.
Shiny, shy sparkles (let’s call them stars) hide behind the raging smog,
A sky as grey as the railway platform with nowhere to go but stare at the ever-running trains
My city’s clarity matches my mind’s.
“Would he/she/they really care if I were gone?”
Blink once, twice, thrice
Over and over again
I make my eyelids droopy with repititive restlessness
But can’t get rid of the pain.
My body refuses to shut the windows to my soul, it seems
My heavy eyes are wide open
To let in all my doubts-
They’re guests after all (or maybe they are the residents)
And my mind is many things
But not an impolite host.
I try to conjure up some tears,
Scanning my memories-
Strange places,
Familiar hands in strange places,
Strange coldness in familiar souls.
Alas
Sorrow is too pure an emotion.
Disappointment suits a cynic better
And I am (often) sure I am one.
Dry eyes, a dry soul, a dry sense of humour
I’m not out of place in my own self, at least.
That’s a relief.
Speaking of relief, I finally realise what I really want to ask
“Would I care if I were gone?”
“Would I be… relieved?”
Maybe some other time,
Some other day,
I will ask a complete stranger
“How did you know I’m broken?”
And nod along with empty eyes to whatever he thinks the reason is;
Or maybe I’ll read a bestselling self-help book
Absorb it for a day
And decide not to be broken;
Or maybe I will go back to bleak attempts at sub-par poetry
Maybe you will read it too
And the desire to die (or the indifference to death, life and everything in between)
Will be reduced to a mere poetic theme
Just like love, war and other things.
mimimusing 