Your mother always said
That there were two sides
To everything
You live the other side of love.

You’re running.
Stop. Turn.
There are no fire exits that way
Or this way.
You’re trapped here.
You cannot conquer guilt;
Stop building castles around it
Words can’t beautify death.

Love is the fire engulfing your house
You can run away from the flames or smoke
But not from the ruin.
{It’ll hurt your eyes first
Later your lungs.}

The cukoo sitting on the guava tree
In front your house
Sings in ones, twos and threes.
One- scratch, scratch, scratch;
Two- slice, slice, slice;
Three- drip, drip, drip.

Listen closely;
Swish, swish, swish.
Anxiety is running away,
A distant memory;
‘Ma had told you to hold onto things’
You do.

Grief isn’t running after you
Or dancing on your head
It’s standing beside you
Stooping on it’s prey.

Trauma isn’t looking for you anymore
It has arrived at your door already
It starts banging and
You let it in wordlessly.

{Wordless chases were your favourite.}

There are no swords up your sleeve
So you plummet into the dark
Without armours.
It gnaws at your flesh
And eats you bare.
You’re left with nothing but a soul
That glitters in the darkness.
You want to scratch it with marks.
Scars are your favourite.

Flowers bleed in your hands
When you hold them;
So you mash the petals
And gulp them with liquid
That flows through your eyes.

Your room isn’t the same
The ceiling cries in your absence
As the blankets bleed
With dreams suffocating beneath them.

And you hold the dagger to your chest
The sounds can’t be muffled
But the source must be.

//Pain, grief and other swear words//

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