and on my breath last night's whisky
stale smoke and stranger's mouths
drunken words fuel the fire and
the knowledge inside 'I am going down'
the promises shattered in the mirror
silvered glass and steel-edged knives
the demons drag at my heels and how
did I ever think I would be alright?

*© Tara India.

she hears the real voices
through papery walls
and they dim
paling in comparison
to the screams
in her head

she sips the coffee
the scalded tongue is
nothing anymore
because at least she knows
that she can feel
something

the sizzling pan torments
with its calorific air
and normality
as she hears the real world
and sinks further
into her nightmares

from behind a locked door
with curtains drawn
she listens, hides
and is brought to tears
by the fact she
cannot join in

she cannot let go
let herself relax when it
is all or nothing
so she drifts and hopes
that everyone will
forget her

she thinks 'why must i sink
under the waves as
they all float'
truthfully she held her breath
and herself under
to escape

she'd like to be like them
she craves their version
of reality
hers is so tragic and
she is sure it
will **** her

*© Tara India.

fragmentary feeling like broken glass
shattered scales and lonely hearts
something comes loose inside my mind
and poison spreads to blur my eyes

it's been eons since I was human
a little girl grew into an illusion
ghosts, shadows, and a drop of blood
as I **** the ones I used to love

a heart devoid; soul of ice
over the edge, did I fall or fly
well devils don't fly down the rabbit hole
and good girls don't sell their souls.

*© Tara India.

and i tried to cry, but i could not
for my tears had already been shed
in blood: five fine lines
that weep and wail underwater
into paper and cloth and
steal emotion from my dumb eyes.

*© Tara India.

there is nothing romantic
or tragically beautiful
about wasting away

my sadness is not poetic
my scars are ugly
and so are shining blades

in cracked skin i find no art
no admirable trait
in learning to die

bathroom tiles hold no appeal;
you shouldn't look at me
and find me lovely

broken skin and broken minds
are not unfixable
but shouldn't be desired

being sick is not being fragile
not fire escapes at 3.am
or tears that fall on lovers hands

not bambi eyes and bones
but a complete loss
of all humanity and all identity

demons curl and the void yawns
the one inside your soul
and you have no love, no body, no name

when your mind is sick
every day is a curse
and it is never romantic

*© Tara India.