Birthmarks and Scars in the Spotlight

Check my birthmarks –
My personal spots and signs,
My life scars, too many to count
But they are mine
Either by birthright, or the attempts on my life.
It feels like I have nine lives,
Four chambers, one bullet
And a cocked hammer –
Pulled back by my stress,
Until I snap, and take that one in four chance
To blast myself in the head.
Although I’m not better off dead.
I’m better off red
In the face, with tears on my cheeks,
Till I’m wet, soaked, covered in sadness,
To the point of breathless madness
But it’s fine, it’s all for the sake of saving him,
That child residing on the inside
Of my heart, working the machine
The way he’s worked his whole damned life,
Putting his own desires aside,
All for the sake of peace and mediation,
Another tough pill to swallow,
But facing the truth is his daily medication

As he carries the same marks,
The same scars, given to him by lovers,
Mothers, brothers, friends and absent fathers,
Who were either there to embrace him,
Burn him at the stake, or neglect him
The way I did when I buried him in the dark
Cold hard ground when I was five.

No, I didn’t want to look at him,
Be him, or free him from his despair,
No, that little boy was going nowhere
If it was up to me, till a point in my life
When I realised that little boy never gave up the fight.

Poem: Ash of the Past

Lay me in the dust of death
A vague disconnect
From the blood on my hands
In the drowning discotheque
Music pounding in my head
To the beat of how things used to be
With our drunken songs
On dimly lit city streets

The sheets on my bed
Still carry your ash
Where I sleep
And have my fitful dreams
From which I keep waking
With tremors in my hands
And an unsteady breath
That escapes my lungs
And leaves me here
Laying myself down in the dust of death

Every Time

I die on the inside every time I decide to leave someone behind.
Or when I lay to rest the plans we never had,
Or the memories we never made
In a future that we will never see
Together.

Together was all we had,
And I find myself here at the end
Of it all, struggling to stand tall
And raise my head high.
Because every goodbye kills me,
And I die every day, afraid
Of the next one to go away.

I’m so fine with it, sometimes,
Somehow, but then there are times
When I’m drowning in the deep depths
Of despair, where the air
Escapes my lungs
And leaves me behind.

Sisyphus and I

Sometimes you try,
Try,
And try,
To climb,
Climb,
And climb,
Up, up,
And up
The hill

Just to reach the summit
And plummet,
Down the other side
And cry,
Cry,
Cry and die.

Maybe you learn something from it
For the next time
You feel alive.

Hey friend

There you are, smiling brightly in the dark sky –
Looking down on me with a million uncaring eyes.
Your brother might be blindly blinding,
But at least he gives me life.
When he’s up there, all your eyes are closed
Since you need your rest too, I suppose.

If I died while you were gone, would you still be smiling?
You probably wouldn’t even notice,
Even though I greeted you a thousand times.

Icarus and I

My wingspan humbles Icarus –
And oh, I understand his flying tragedy.
I have flown so closely to the sun
And my endless flight has left its marks on me
But now it feels as if I am falling as he did
Till I crash into the Earth as he did
And let my last breath leave me, as he did –
Yes, it is the same downfall as Icarus:
The failure of fathers.
My father, my god, my creator
Created my waxed wings
And stabbed them into my back
Where they still hang today.

My heart burns, and it only intensifies
The heat from the sun
And I just wish the fire would burn out
So I can finally see him again,
And ask why
It had to be me
And ask why
I had to bleed endlessly and fly
Only to want to die
From the day he gave me my wings.

On the Wrong Track

I’m listening to sad songs
Because there’s something wrong
In my head and I’m sad
All the time and not fine
When I want to end my bloodline with me
And can’t see how I can be free.

It’s a constant continuation
Of frustration
But I’m not hiding –
Fighting it as I just sit
And take it but I don’t fake it
Even though I wish I could

Get off at the next station
And leave this train of thought
But the ticket I bought was misunderstood
And now I don’t know what to do.

Sad Salesman

I sold a smile with zero commission –
It’s the tale of the sad salesman.
Going door to door
On different shores –
So sure that it would be okay.

It was a day to day basis,
And I stayed on this path –
No matter the waves and phases
That I faced.

But it’s time for a career change
And to change my ways.
So that finally I can reach a place
Where instead of chasing the sun –
And its face,
It will smile down to me
And let me breathe
Freely.

Waves of Fire

I get so tired
Of the tiredness –
Of walking on coals
With fires under my feet.

The flames reach my face
But I am falling asleep,
As it’s just the same
As yesterday.

A small relief
When I can breathe –
Just for a brief moment,
Before the fire fills my lungs.

I can see the waves, far away
And up close, as they close
In on me once more –
Same as before.

Final Beat

Submerged in the sadness
In the filthiest bath,
Dealing with endless madness,
Call me Sylvia Plath.

Play the sad violins
While I’m turning up the heat,
This is where the end begins,
So listen to this final beat;

Listen

To the silence.