tonight is one of those awful nights
the chill-ridden nights that occur
near summer with  almost half
a year stretched behind me
and little enough ahead
that i am torn by the idea
of wasting yet more days
and the screaming starts from
somewhere inside and then
echoes from every wall that
encloses me in a cell
i built it myself and i'll
probably never be free but they
they cry freedom with their call
to step over the line once more
and before i know it i am
huddled on my bed crying
taking pills for the ache which
has nothing to do with my head
and everything to do with
my warped mind and
ever more warped life

*© Tara India.

with my heart I have reached a strange impasse
I am trying to ignore my mind at last
to my head I propose some compromise
for at long last I do not pray to die

they can all see that I fight daily
to ignore these voices which call strangely
although I see my life is worth living
they are so cold and unforgiving

where once I walked with their hands in mine
a shallow crossing towards the finish line
I now ache to turn to solid ground
eyes to the sky I want to be found

still their hands tighten on my throat
I fear they will not so easily let go
it's a strange fight when clinging to life
I am constantly told I deserve to die

*© Tara India.

I used to dream that I could be
A life lived out in vintage dresses and
Tea at four, fragile porcelain with
The clicking of typewriter keys

I used to dream that I could be
Net gloves and veils, heels always
High and elegant on the 48 bus
And lipstick lined on perfectly

I used to dream that I could be
Running the world – or femme fatale
Cutting words, seduction and vice
Cigarettes and whisky at three

I used to dream that I could be
Hitchcock’s heroine washed and set
Neat home and neater profession
Always carrying on productively

Yet now I see I will always be
Pyjamas till one, or all week
With day old hair – eyes smudged
Hungover and reeking of coffee

Yet now I see I will always be
Temperamental with my
Flighty pen and paper scribbles
Reading, writing disinterestedly

Yet now I see I will always be
Painfully average and mundane
Second-best, never measuring
Up to those surrounding me

Yet now I see I will always be
Warm wine – a microwave queen
A disastrous whirlwind unsatisfied
And dreaming suicidally.

*© Tara India.

she sits and sways -
her head clouded by noise
dust and hunger swim
through her mind

she sits and feels
as though she might sink
become part of the
dusky coverlet

she sits -- she cries
her body failing and
flaking, throbbing
in its retribution

she sits and dreams
behind plastic eyes: numb
and dumb as her
crumbling corpse

she sits, she sees
the hours thrum by in
time with her lazy
aching heart

she sits and she is
surrounded by real or
not real shadows
and living ghosts

she sits and tries
to dredge up a smile
but brain and body
lie disconnected

she sits and dreads
impending doom and
fragile movements
on shaking legs

she sits -- she sighs
feels the pull and drag,
pant of wheezing
dried-out lungs

she rises and sways
not strong enough now
her self destruction has
taken its toll.

*© Tara India.