The length of an entirety, the entirety you call home, wrapped in four fragile failing walls
And yet, I can feel myself choking on the dead air, as if sinking to the very entrails of a filthy ocean
The whole of a crowd, thick and filling, somewhat like a never-ending horde of blood-thirsty locusts
And yet, I can feel myself strangulated, my windpipe left for dead, in a loveless foreplay, with the comfortably unsettling silences of a ransacked cemetery
I still remember the night
It was a usual night with an unusual sky, patches of pale crimson and a tinge of beige smothered right across the ribs
It was the night I had freed my wife
I had freed my wife from the woman living in her bones
For, my wife was in love with me while the woman inside had rented out her flesh
And I couldn't watch her tear apart my love, gradually, inches by the skin
So, I held the woman, firm by the throat
And dug my fingers in
Fingers don't cut through; fingers dig deep and blunt
She blushed as if shot in blood as I felt her neck break and wilt like a spineless invertebrate nightcrawler
And then, I cut her equal, right between the breasts, all the way down, till the very end
The woman bled as my wife watched it all, in assuring stoic silence
But, the woman still had my wife's face on her
And, I had to conclude what I had begun
So I sat down to work, yet again
And as I carved her out and chiselled through the thinning lumps of flesh
I watched my wife's face disappear, bit by bit, somewhat like the setting sun across the fading horizon
My wife. My mother. My father.
I freed them all
One by one, one at a time
The idea of singulars is beautiful
But, what do I do of these lives
A pistol to his head, a bullet in mine
A knife to her mouth, a blade in mine
How do I free them all
Too many dead to be put to rest
Too few hour hands on the wall clock to cleanse them all
Tonight, let me lose another night's sleep as I put to sleep another goodnight
And yet, I can feel myself choking on the dead air, as if sinking to the very entrails of a filthy ocean
The whole of a crowd, thick and filling, somewhat like a never-ending horde of blood-thirsty locusts
And yet, I can feel myself strangulated, my windpipe left for dead, in a loveless foreplay, with the comfortably unsettling silences of a ransacked cemetery
I still remember the night
It was a usual night with an unusual sky, patches of pale crimson and a tinge of beige smothered right across the ribs
It was the night I had freed my wife
I had freed my wife from the woman living in her bones
For, my wife was in love with me while the woman inside had rented out her flesh
And I couldn't watch her tear apart my love, gradually, inches by the skin
So, I held the woman, firm by the throat
And dug my fingers in
Fingers don't cut through; fingers dig deep and blunt
She blushed as if shot in blood as I felt her neck break and wilt like a spineless invertebrate nightcrawler
And then, I cut her equal, right between the breasts, all the way down, till the very end
The woman bled as my wife watched it all, in assuring stoic silence
But, the woman still had my wife's face on her
And, I had to conclude what I had begun
So I sat down to work, yet again
And as I carved her out and chiselled through the thinning lumps of flesh
I watched my wife's face disappear, bit by bit, somewhat like the setting sun across the fading horizon
My wife. My mother. My father.
I freed them all
One by one, one at a time
The idea of singulars is beautiful
But, what do I do of these lives
A pistol to his head, a bullet in mine
A knife to her mouth, a blade in mine
How do I free them all
Too many dead to be put to rest
Too few hour hands on the wall clock to cleanse them all
Tonight, let me lose another night's sleep as I put to sleep another goodnight
