The soft throbbing of my heart has fallen silent giving way to a loud, piercing cry that ends in a moan and a fit of tears. The tears fall like pebbles, unwanted, despised, brown and cracked. The glass facade cracks as the hours turn into days and days into weeks and weeks in fortnights. Nothing seems to calm the storm writhing to break free from the damaged, taped fist. Blood, longing to drip onto the beige tiles that have been wiped clean day before yesterday. The ritual of cleaning had been undertaken for the benefit of visiting parties. The mind recoils from every touch, every word, every memory. The soft sand seems to hot, the ice seems to burn the tongue, the coffee too bland, the weather too dank and bright – a weird mixture that hasn’t come around in a long time. Music, the only source of solace continues to sing the songs of love and lust, of depression and repression, of starry nights and low highs, of undecided minds and bright flowers. Left with no testimony, no example to show and be, the mind retreats into the fortress built six months ago. This one has been built with pain and tears. It should stand the outburst of endless thoughts that are rummaging through a maze of feelings. Conundrum, chaos, cataclysmic pictures arise out of the depths of the bounty of this morning. Pick what thou likes and leave. Just leave. Don’t come back, don’t look back.
Confidence ebbs away, flows away like silver fish in a stream. The four walls move closer stifling the little life present in the lungs. Gasp! Breathe, just breathe. It’s over. It’s over. Breathe in. Breathe in slowly. That’s it. It done. Chill. Chill. Chill. Chill. Just chill. Like ice that burns? Or like sand that stings? Give, give, give. Keep giving. Give everything you have. Break the very life that sustains you and give that away too. Just keep giving. Because that’s the only thing left to do. That’s the only thing you know how to do without fucking up. That’s the only action that suits your character. Give. Give. Underneath lies a bag of bones, dried in the sun, devoid of emotions, lacking proper etiquette, a collection of waste, a putrid stench of yester years, a pale reflection of humanity. Dead.