I'm covered in crimson sand.
"Be still, my mind. waves are common metaphors, let me shroud you in flooded coasts, adrift legacies, and crippled hope. The moon was made to rule the sea- give yourself up, you're nothing, if not a tide."
I'm picking out ebony gravel from my skeleton.
"Settle down, dear heart. Lullabies make me restless, I shall sing to you the music of a flat-lining beep, the hymns of a graveyard, the jazz of the reaper's footfall. Stars personify the perished- you have started looking like a constellation.”
I'm running in an elliptical reverie.
"Hush, waxen skin. Disquiet creeps under you, I see it making its way towards my lips- bone to bone, vein to vein, nerve to nerve. Help me draw it apart from my blood, lest it turns indigo."
I'm sitting on a cot of ashes.
I have no pretty words left to give to you, my mortal being. I bathe you in distress and distilled resentment. I wrap you in a coarse robe of hesitancy, and when you bleed remorse, I hide you beneath the garb of ephemeral sunsets. Can you forgive me?
Can you forgive me?
My head rules my heart, my head rules you. It handcuffs me with what-ifs and cuts into my wind-pipe with a serrated knife; have you never wondered why air never escapes you? Can you forgive me?
Can you forgive me?
I am remorseful- I rue me. you need a dose of serenity, and I, I need you to purge me.
I know I said I have no pretty words left for you- but dreamless nights would help calm you; forgive me.
I'm trying, trying not to euthanize you, trying not to stumble.
Forgive me.
I want to love you, to caress you, to make you feel cared for.
Forgive me.
Let me lay you down in muslin- you're shivering; and it's all on me.
Forgive me.
by Isha Gupta ( https://www.instagram.com/_ishagupta/?hl=en )