Rant

Of the seven deadly sins, PRIDE is the one that is my very own. I’ve been told that it’s the root of all others. And I shall always wear this sin on my sleeve.

So, when pride takes a blow, it’s numbing and paralyzing. I find myself unable to move on. Yet, this pride is an animal inside me, all beaten and broken but still alive, still struggling to keep its spine ramrod straight. It is so easy to break me – I am not the wise grass that bends with the wind and bows to its awesome power. And I am broken. Crushed by the tremendous burden of this shame, my foolishness, my disgusting naiveté.

I must confess I am completely amoral. Yet I am shackled by a moral code that is more stringent than anything the society can devise.

Among other things, I believe that wanting to yield to carnal temptations is the most natural thing in the world – even when one is in a monogamous relationship. Forced monogamy, as practised by the society at large, by making divorce difficult and such assorted things, is absolute bull crap though it’s easy to see why it is necessary for the collective. On the other hand, I also believe that out of this utter nonsense that has been practised for ages there evolves something sublime and almost poetic, ridiculously so. And that is the genuine desire to give oneself completely to one person alone. No forcing, no contracts, no ratification by law, no bullshit.

Like I said, monogamy is unnatural and difficult. Has to be. Otherwise there’s no reason for all these sex hormones and oh-so-strong urges to procreate. Therefore, monogamy is the most beautiful gift one can give to a person one truly cares about. Complete, utter, blind trust, honesty, faithfulness. It is possible. It is possible.

Now, when some unlucky idjits like me do that, it inevitably backfires. Sub-humans who have not yet evolved to the level of understanding the concept do not deserve to be honoured so.

My muse has been envied. Rightly so. I would kill, steal, sell my soul for him. I would have. I was demanded that I blindly trust. I did. The more fool me.

My honest verses laugh at me. Each word, each syllable is shrill, mocking and unending. Like a pack of hyenas. I wear my shame and crouch in the corner.

I must bear this cross alone. I must lay down alone on the bathroom floor, moaning with silent pain. I can talk to no one, I must pretend normalcy when my heart threatens to stop.

The only way out of grief is through it. It’s a hell of a long walk.

Betrayal

So this is what betrayal feels like. Always thought it would gurgle up bitter, sour tastes in the throat. But it’s tasteless.

Delayed shock…

Is the only explanation. Because I loved you. A desperate, needy love. Though I was careful not to show it.

Shame

An inordinate amount of shame. Embarrassment. Like I’m naked in public, and I’m fat. Skin marred with deep pockmarks. The crowd boos. Shame. I feel ashamed.

Self Flagellation

I never learn. Never. Never. Never. I deserve this. What goes around comes back around. For all my analysis and semi intellectual rants I still walk straight into The Trap. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. I hate dumb women. I’m one of them.

Worthless

I am a used tissue. Throw me away. My body is desert. The oasis is bloody. You will die of thirst. Do you drink blood?

Irony

Only yesterday, I rode the high waves of ecstasy. I needed just one whiff of his thought to get me so fucking high. Now, I am the undead. What happens when a 50 feet fall does not kill you? Look at me.

Fear

Of the truth. Of love. That I still love you. And that I always will.

Disgust

I want to puke. The thought of you cheating on me makes me want to throw up. My insides are in knots.

Hysteria

That I dreamt of carrying your child. Our child. Me. The bitch. The heartless lunatic who is all for population control.

Helpless

Inertia. My mouth is sewn shut. I can’t speak. This non-pain will tear me apart. I foresee it happening. I’m paralysed.

Lament

My love my love my love my love my love

Why have you forsaken me?

My verses have died premature. I wanted to write so much for you.

Record

This feeling. Because I will forget. I will not cry because I have no tears. The wound will close by my will alone. Because I am the strongest there is.

But I must remember this is how I felt. Feel? Do I? Not one drop of tear. Not one drop. I used to cry buckets, at the drop of a hat.

Pity me. For I hate pity.

Surprise

It was true love. Great love. Love really doesn’t matter, does it? I thought love could move mountains. I was wrong. Only I loved.

I don’t understand you. That hurts. Or maybe what hurts is that I do understand you. I see you for what you truly are. My wishful thinking has not made you a King. The sceptre and crown are to be deserved.

I am Queen. I am too good for you.

Begone, you bastard.

Afraid

Afraid of what the future holds, I train myself to shed no tears. I have been training myself for quite some time now, I never thought I would succeed, but I’m afraid I have. Now I find that future tears have solidified and rain as hail into my present, and in future I forever shall be stuck in the past where it rains sharp pellets of frozen tears.

Afraid of letting go of the tenuous hold on sanity afraid to mourn to grieve a future loss that I know for sure will happen, afraid of losing you, I wander, I have nowhere to go, I wander scared and lonely and I start at the slightest sound, the smallest irritant draws ferociousness out of me, my temper is a red hot molten flower which vaporises anything in its vicinity.

I look in the mirror and draw out hatred for the tired sallowness of my skin, the stretch marks on my thighs and I shift the blame onto them, I must believe it is because of them that I cannot have you.

My sadness is a pot of raging fire that I carry in my heart, sealed in its secret chambers, I’m afraid to take it outside, if I do the heat will consume my entire universe and several lives will perish.

The water I drink is blood, I have been darkened by darkness, my sky is filled with locusts of torn memories and the fear of your power over my soul and the hate I have for the wailing anguish in my heart.

There is fire in my bones, I am desolate, I have no strength, I faint as I walk. I weep in the night, I have sinned, I have loved you with my mind, body and spirit, you possess all three, my skin is tattooed with your love your lust your touch, I shall sin again, for My Lord, you are my one true love.

My hands hurt maul helpless innocence, my hands have a life of their own, they are the hands of the devil I have locked up inside. Claw at my breastbone and let it free let me cry let me mourn let me grieve and move on.

Unloved

She was cursed by Love once. Love, in the pale blue flaming chariot, rode up to her and jabbed his fiery fingertips into her eyes, blinding her. Love hated her. So he blinded her.

So, in her blind world, she felt her way around. At times she rested by the flowing brook. The brook flowed with blood, it lapped at her feet and tainted her dainty toes. The crimson in her soul slowly trickled down to join the brook.

Love chided her for being dark and brooding. He twisted his fingers into her hair, his fiery fingers singed her scalp. And her eyes bled with tears. Love was disgusted at this pitiable show of passion.

Her face was tilted towards the warmth of Love. Love shone as a sun in her sky. Then Love shone brighter and her skin burnt crisp, bones burnt to cinders. She did not cry out in pain, for she feared Love’s wrath, she feared Love’s derision.

Love knelt by her and spat on her. “My Love, My Love”, she cried, wretched woman that she was. Love paid no heed, he did not need to.

Then Love draped a dirty, purple rag about her and tied her hands to his chariot with a silky rope that held false promises of tenderness. Her head was bowed and she knelt beside the chariot, as it began to move, slowly at first then picking up speed. Her knees were bruised, she got to her feet and started running.

And then Love dragged her, along the slush of her discarded prayers and devoted offerings. The oil that she had meant to anoint his head mixed with dirt now, coating her skinned knees.

Then they reached the town square. Love paused, theatrically. His face showed contempt and triumph. He had triumphed once again, as he always does. The townsfolk cast their slippers at her and they spat in contempt. The women crossed themselves for finding themselves safe and sound, as far away from her as possible for they feared she’d taint their homes. The men jeered at her for they were angered by her devotion to Love. And for they never found such naked adoration in their wives’ eyes as they found in the blind woman’s. The eunuchs laughed at her, they berated her loudly for letting herself be humiliated thus.

Love then locked her up, in a dark dungeon. His prize catch – the unloved.