waiting, counting, the hours are rhythmic
timed and passed by the slow bruising
of dried-peach skin to sick blackcurrant
ringing metal beats out the hours I'm losing

although, is my time gained, as others are
sleeping; immune to the gloried stars
swimming in my eyes, and one more blow
eyes closed, mind draining to the dark

I see the dawn in all its false hope
out of step and keeping my own time
dullish aching through bones to heart
with sluggish veins powering a body's decline

sickness is sick; I am not in health
nails blueishly giving away my failure
to guard my sanity, its repercussions
leave me lying broken, bent, impure

tear-stained minutes tick disjointed
I'm underwater: airless, trapped
around me they fly, I sink, I die
now watch me fall off the inky map.

*© Tara India.

just what
am I meant to do
am I supposed
to lie
to pretend
smile and hide

or do you
want me to run
cry in the arms of
a stranger
a friend
honestly

am i
meant to live
exist like this
forever
ten more
years of hell

or do i
submit to pills
and therapy and
hope
one day to
be fixed

to be
made better by
magic and whispers
hazes
and drugs
can it work

and what
even is better
i have no real
comprehension
of another
life

*© Tara India.

thousands of lost souls screaming at the dark
that lives inside their minds
and wishing someone could draw them out
of their lonely heads and this broken time

even the simplest action becomes an ordeal
a herculean task to those who are
living perpetually in fear of all
the things they see and everything they are

if you have never lost your senses
to sheer paralysis over food, or going out
you cannot understand how terrifying
life can be, or how it drags so many down

we live in the depths, an exclusive hades
this circle of hell exists on earth
heaven and stars become a rich pipedream
we lose all idea of love and elusive self worth

an illness so isolated, this disease
god I wish something was wrong with my body
that could show what makes me so insane
instead of a perfectionist need to be lovely

an innate detachment from others
the people who know how to exist
in happiness, who dream of real things
who when they die will truly be missed

I am not here, not real, I wish I was
not a shadow girl, the ghost at the bar
lost in a lonely heart and finding salvation
wielding a blade and creating ugly scars

making pain replace love and true feeling
so that everything translates to fat
and I can't possibly enjoy anything
and open up, I'll never be like that

withdrawal and dissolution reigns until
this girl gets help, gets locked up
gets shown all the ways in which she is sick
god, I wish I had never grown up

*© Tara India.

sit, to a ticking clock
numb bones, aching joints
a drumbeat heart slowing
living in death and decay

eyes pour synthetic love
and fear, while my
dreams rot in my skull
losing my mind each day

should be working, reading,
writing something with real
meaning, instead I am
living in death and decay

structure falls, missed lectures
since I can't focus or
even pretend to understand
losing my mind each day

getting into trouble, again
and again I fall into this
silence and paralysis
living in death and decay

how long before they notice
I am not really here,
I don't exist, and never did
losing my mind each day

insanity, unreality hangs
on every wall oozing venom
that stills my heart
living in death and decay

dying is no art when I
should be becoming something
beautiful and alive
losing my mind each day

failure, drop out, weak
poisonous words and I
am giving in, giving up
living in death and decay
losing my mind each day

*© Tara India.

fragile yet bulletproof
a doll, china-glazed
wrapped in barbed wire
steel claws, my iron gaze

through the blackness
the magnetic ground
starry-eyed; it's tempting
trying to pull me down

with lead weights tied
to my dragging heels
god I wish I were strong
and didn't have to feel

mind wired on chemicals
and caffeinated veins
blood clots, racing heart
I think I'm sick again

counting the hours in
bites of empty air
ghosts crawling to my ears
nestling in brittle hair

I'll have to stop soon
I'm hunger-drunk, dying
high on pain and
so done with trying

baffled by so-called normal
those machines that refuel
on fat, sugar, calories
it's so ******* cruel

that I was born to howl
at a midnight moon
to live in shadows, knowing
my life is ending soon.

*© Tara India.

the worst kind of sickness
convinces you that
you are well
and makes you believe
you'll find heaven in
your private hell

it gives a double meaning
to encouraging words
"stay strong"
now every turn looks right
when it leads you
further wrong

you think you found art
and your particular
brand of health
when you burn your mind
and choke your heart
and soul to death

a burning fire at the end
of your claustrophobic
tunnel, blinding
you to the fact that you are
slowly dying and you are
not reminded

because you are "well"
on a sip of coffee or
diet coke for dinner
you're convinced you are okay
can only get better when
getting thinner

in a bone cage you rest
one you built
and held closed
on smoky breaths you survive
relationships froze and life
is on hold

now your brain is wired
for self destruct in
three, two, one
before you know you were sick
all of your hard work has
come undone.

*© Tara India.