poor vision
Twenty missed calls, eleven texts and six door knocks later
I realise I cannot skip through my day by tugging my blanket harder,
knowing that the world is sliding away,
and the wind is too cold,
as if the next breath I take
will break me into tears,
and let out more than my silence can,
more than my distance can,
but honestly, I prefer to choke myself
till the lumps in my throat
ease themselves into the pain,
till my sleep is all I can understand,
for all it says is nothing,
and I understand nothing.
I realise I cannot skip through my day by tugging my blanket harder,
knowing that the world is sliding away,
and the wind is too cold,
as if the next breath I take
will break me into tears,
and let out more than my silence can,
more than my distance can,
but honestly, I prefer to choke myself
till the lumps in my throat
ease themselves into the pain,
till my sleep is all I can understand,
for all it says is nothing,
and I understand nothing.
Red blankets are not reset buttons,
and I wish I could hold up
a bigger danger sign,
or at least a sign,
something readable, something prominent, something that says,
"fragile, might break,"
because every time I get back,
tired from this picturesque reality,
too tired to see,
I wish my bed would put together my pieces,
and see my dry eyes,
and my wet eyes,
and fill them with calm,
and fix things up,
and unhook the burdens,
and not break me again,
but then again,
beds aren't reset buttons either.
and I wish I could hold up
a bigger danger sign,
or at least a sign,
something readable, something prominent, something that says,
"fragile, might break,"
because every time I get back,
tired from this picturesque reality,
too tired to see,
I wish my bed would put together my pieces,
and see my dry eyes,
and my wet eyes,
and fill them with calm,
and fix things up,
and unhook the burdens,
and not break me again,
but then again,
beds aren't reset buttons either.
I imagine a sunny day,
and then I imagine it slowly simmering down into an orange evening,
and then I imagine the happiest smile my lips have ever known,
and then, in a flicker, I stop, pause, break,
because I cannot remember it anymore.
and then I imagine it slowly simmering down into an orange evening,
and then I imagine the happiest smile my lips have ever known,
and then, in a flicker, I stop, pause, break,
because I cannot remember it anymore.
You see, I do not recognise my happiness,
or remember what people said,
or what I did.
I remember nothing but blurry faces,
flickering monochrome images,
remnants of the world smiling,
songs and tunes all haphazard,
playing out till the end,
reminding that there is no happy song, not one.
or remember what people said,
or what I did.
I remember nothing but blurry faces,
flickering monochrome images,
remnants of the world smiling,
songs and tunes all haphazard,
playing out till the end,
reminding that there is no happy song, not one.
I wish I had imagined just a sunny day,
and I wish I had squinted,
just long enough
to be able to see
how bright they see
this bleak world as,
and nothing more.
I was looking for signs,
just, not squinting hard enough.
and I wish I had squinted,
just long enough
to be able to see
how bright they see
this bleak world as,
and nothing more.
I was looking for signs,
just, not squinting hard enough.
poor vision
Written by Yash Raj Talan
