I fell over at half past two.
Near a candle, some matches, and wax on a drawer
Through open curtains, rays shine through
Words in a pile, shut away for later days
But later days would have to be tomorrow
Tomorrow and today.
The ticks of the clock wander.
They mock me.
I blurred out at a quarter past four.
Black lines are indiscriminately spread wilder than wrist veins
Powdered ability flanks trailing footprints while
Hours fuzz daringly, like a peach casually resting on my tongue
And pictures blur out.
An orange mixed pink dimness takes a watery spread outside my window
No match for the once-brilliant, piercing rays a few hours back
And my lenses adjust to focus on scattered pencil shavings
They surround me.
I re-entered reality at half past nine.
Now, unrecognizable footprints lead back to sanguinity with
Less light, more illumination.
Lies. It is simply dark. Sanguinity is but a cover.
Olfaction is alive and the smells
Of daisies among confusion
Meander with me. Past discoloration.
They revive me.
Hours marathon, and suddenly,
It’s five minutes to midnight.
I feel the fumes grazing the tip of my skin
From the cigarette I had thought I put out
Jutting out just below my weary brows
Drooping. Settling. Stalling — down through my back,
Up into the legs of my faded pants, and I realize,
Those cheetah stripes are simply incomparable
To the nothingness from which darkness sweeps, and time —
Sweeps through. Seeps through.
I stopped at twelve on the dot.
Contact Sandhya Kannan at [email protected].