~ the princess of a speck-sized realm of smallness

somewhat poetic prose; i write merely to exercise my right to write; it took me from may 22nd, 2015, till today to say this... i must be weird... lol :p

monsieur scalpel,

in one thing

and it alone

am i a magician

nonpareil

i can conjure

images of isolation

which resemble

bullet wounds

in the head

and final thoughts

before death

after one lands

on razor sharp blades

of toxic grass

(right after being pushed

from a speeding train)

in that wilderness

the only word

the wolves of time

are chanting

as they howl in unison

is a precise diagnosis

of my past, present and future 

the word is 'failure'

and the world is also 'failure'

rivulets of blood

flowing from the wound

sting and fumble

to sting a little more

as they weep in tiny puddles

which form in the folds

of death-embracing skin

in those moments

of parasomnia

which unravel over

five and a half hours

of sleep deception

ears ache in echo chambers

to hear one's own final words

before life ends

and almost eleven months later

when lucidity has ceased to be

one's most terrifying adversary

there's just one thought

left to cling to

and i'm not about to delve

into an epiphany of sorts

i'm merely re-visiting

a conclusion

that i have re-visited

in every crescendo of a crisis since

and that is

that i wish to relinquish

control

over every other human being

that i have known,

know,

or will know

and

that i wish to

embolden my control

over even my micro-actions

and micro-expressions

nah

i speak not of the cold-blooded

murder of spontaneity

i sing a hymn of precision

which waltzes with instinct and intuition

i speak of

solace which is as real

as the river of mirrors

in which my reflection

is blurred but flows

my peace piece

is made of shredded paper

on which i tried to write verse

but it holds me in its little girl heart

and sparkles

even in moments of a monumental disarray

just because

i am the princess

of a speck-sized realm

of smallness

i don't have frightening nightmares

any more

but when i think about them

i can't help but be embossed by

the thought

that for almost eleven months

my final words

after being shot in the head

from point blank range

and being thrown off a speeding train

over and over again

night after night

were mine

and there wasn't even one micro drop

of hatred in them

all i experienced was remorse

for all the violence

i have ever unleashed

and love

for all that is poetic and peaceful

i would see the palette of colours

in art and the natural universe

i would sense

the sensitive amongst us

and their benevolence

and i'd smile

my earnest chipped-tooth smile

knowing

that i had lived

in a rainbow

whenever i could

and i was as ready

as i would ever be

to give it away

to anyone who adored flowers

fireflies and flutterbys

as much as i do

i unearthed you beyond that moment in time

and whenever your anxiety

superimposes its notions of superiority on you

and leaves you feeling vulnerable and tentative

and you mumble reservations

about my ability to remain submerged

in a reservoir of infinite patience

i forget to say these words

i just wrote

so i thought i'd step out 

from behind my veil of inertia

just for a bit

just for you

and let you know

that i rarely think of what

someone else might or might not do

for i am engrossed

in the endless profession

of focusing on 

what i must do

as also never, ever miss

observing

Author's Note

Reviews

[no tell writer]

such a beautiful well written write

[Carolynn]

beautiful words from a beautiful Soul! :)