Cut Soul

I’m opened up badly

I’m cut so deep 

Too dull

I can remember being stitched up though

Apparently I forgot that too!

It seems that I tend to forget

Even my injuries

So much that I went in so hard, vigorously

Chest first!!!

Oh, 

I’m hollow on the inside

It seems that I’ve been vacant 

A fragile shell 

A red room in my chest 

Which red door is a thin layer of tender and soft skin

That started decaying

There is something wondrous still

The tissues are drawn so precisely and intricately

Haven’t they been inflamed and sore like they are

So puffed up, as if strangling each other out of air and blood-flow

I would have said that they are intertwined passionately

Dancing on fire, with love and life

To the rhythm of a lively heart

Beating

...

I used to be patched up

Or so I remember

I remember being taken care of

I remember being attended to

The memory is vague

A hazy vision clouded by uncertainty

I do not know

Have I forgotten again?

Have they gotten tired, those who were attending to me?

Have it all been a fantasy and no one was even here? 

I think I used to patch-me-up

Perhaps it was me taking care of me

Oh, I’m so exhausted now

My stretched and stitched-up self is worn out

It is crumbling 

Leaving me exposed

There are also these small cuts here and there, 

They are everywhere, all over me!!

Inviting in these flesh-eating bacteria

Which have found in me a warm home

It is a fallen shell of a fallen soul

Damaged and torn, 

Abandoned

! ! !

Life Thieves

It is all about the serpents now;

Thin, slimy, and small.

Cunning and swirling,

Crawling up my legs,

Creeping out my skin;

My numbed body.

Some wrapped around my ankle,

Thickly, tightly.

I cannot leave;

I would not.

I thought I could be their friend;

Taming them,

They tamed me;

My wild body, my vigorous moves;

They have taken over my shrew.

I am stung

Even after being stunned

Their alpha comes

They all withdraw

A newcomer to their dancefloor 

I lay still as it squeezes me.

I am losing track of my regular pace of breathing,

Slowly.

My lungs are getting pushed up,

I can feel my windpipe as it suffocates.

It is crashing, there is no air…

I am gasping hard

As my bones puncture my flesh.

I can feel the flow of my blood slowly getting paralyzed,

Tearing through my fatigued, pressured veins,

Clotting in my arteries.

My arms are stuck to my torso,

Tight.

My vision is failing,

It is a hazy greyed vision of blurry, fading lights,

A distorted image of an alleged room,

My trap, I presume.

With millions of spectators watching and cheering,

It was only few who actually knew the plan,

The show that we are all part in.

And here I lay, here I am

Shutting my eyes

To that filthy pair of slit red eyes

With its victorious, sharp look 

And smelly, slit, hissing tongue