Graveyards, ghouls, things that bump

are not the ones I fear near much

as the crowds that press, take my air

so insignificant I've become

Confusion leads to sweaty palms

my fragile grasp so nearly gone

my feet know and head for home

Netflix, coffee some sofa rest

The air is stale, the walls closing in,

I struggle to keep my eyes open, in vain.

I know I am moving, yet I feel so still,

I call out to you but my voice becomes shrill.

You seem so near, yet so far away,

I am dead I can feel, 

But only a moment more I can stay.

I know you are careless, but for once look around,

For you I hold on this last breath, or dead I will be found.

I am dying besides you, you are busy on the screen,

Just keep that phone away for once,

I do not want to die ... unheld ... unseen!

© CopyRight Vibha Lohani 2016

elevator

no control

no choice to make

no stopping

death

if

the

cord

happens

to

snap.

fate left open to chance

every time I press the ominous

illuminating button;

stuck in the middle

moving between

up or down?

life or death?

the purgatory of the modern world.

those few moments

of taut anticipation

hoping that I will be spared

fear setting in as I realize

I have no power

over my survival

stuck in waiting

hopeless moments waning down

it cannot be pleaded against.

at least in the wild,

at least in this world

we call our home

we have options

but on the elevator...

my fate is already

sealed.

snap.

Those tablets filled with sanity,

The chemicals that make me me,

Through chance, neglect, or thievery,

Are gone. And as for the pharmacy, 

They are closed up, or too far away.

And so for day after day after day,

I lose control of what I think and say,

And self-harm becomes the normal way

To deal

With what I feel:

The pain is very real

As real as anything can be

I lose control of my body and me,

Hallucinations are all I see. 

And then I stumble to a knife,

Sobbing, wailing, done with life.

And to make it worse, as I die on the floor, 

I see the bottles I dropped weeks before. 

Too little too late: I'm out of pills. 

Hearing stories of

immeasurable misfortune,

I softly twist this can-opener

to the circle that is your

broken heart.

I have caused this harm

through misperception-

wrong views I forged

and wore so blindly.

So now I do my best to

love with courage;

For I no longer fear death,

only contributing to yours.

I'm afraid that one day when I'm reading a book

Death will come knocking

And I will not be able to read the book

Death may go to other places too

Killing my favorite author

Rendering her work incomplete

I know every one has ending

I want to be complete before I reach mine.

No one is indestructible, no one,

when you come at me with your attitude

my instinct is to punch you in the throat,

I want you to see your mortality,

like the time when you threw your knife at me

and I caught it, tossing it back to you,

the sound the handle made when it hit you,

the sound your head made when it hit concrete,

the sound of the crowd as it cheered me on,

the sound of your mewling as I drew near,

the sound of my voice as I warned you last,

or the time you surrounded me, your friends

bringing me to my knees and I faced you

unblinkingly, challenging you to fight,

calmly calling you coward, scaring you,

controlling the situation, your friends

calling you to the center of the ring,

bringing you to your knees after one blow,

none of us are indestructible, none,

you just have not learned that lesson—as yet.

My fear?

that's not so easy.

My fear is something

that cannot be put simply into words

it is a being all its own

it has a heartbeat

and long blood-ridden claws

ready to rip apart my sanity 

at the touch of a feather

my fear

is darkness

evil incarnate

it has long, gleaming teeth

and a voice that whispers for me 

to .

just.

jump.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

My fear is the voice in my head, and the razor in my hand.

I am afraid of the unknown. 

The what ifs. 

They debilitate me. 

When I was little my dad would take me outside to see the full moon in the dark. 

And he would go "AH! What was that! Over in that thick cluster of bushes! Could it be a werewolf? I think you should go check it out." 

I knew he was messing with me. He was always messing with me.

I was certain there was nothing there in the bushes. If anything a squirrel or maybe a turkey. (Although the turkeys are terrifying enough.)

But it was the what if? that caught me. The what if? that made me yell and go back inside.

It's now the what if I fails? What if I'm not doing the right thing? 

What happens on each path? 

I mentally turn down one and then what if it's the wrong road? 

So my head comes back and I end up stuck. 

I'm stuck. 

What if the werewolves are real? 

Abandoned in the sea,

Without light nor guidance...

What do I do? Where should I go next?

Tumbling down the wells of despair and chaos,

I linger endlessly in search of freedom and hope.

Sorrow and grief,

In this abandoned city.

Raining for a thousand days, a thousand minutes, a thousand seconds...

I am unsure.

Standing alone in the eternal darkened shroud.

The shrine holds the truth,

The truth is.... I am dying.

© Marcel Jr. Nault, 2016