The books are lined like soldiers,
Postcards litter the walls;
All signs are here, all lights are on
But is there anybody home?
The typewriter is clicked shut,
Gathering dust with the pens
And untouched paper which ache
To be held, used, or thrown
In madness, rage, or inspiration;
The kettle awaits its use
And the cigarettes sit unsmoked,
Here in the bed she lies alone:
Stopped, shattered with the choice
To eat or write or work
When really there's nothing to do,
She's drowning in this unknown.
No life, or sound in her breath
Glazed eyes; her empty head
Makes no mark upon the pillow,
Her bones lifeless as chrome
A week or two to pass; time
Dripping like sand in hours and
Minutes so hollow, so worthless:
A skeleton, a whale prone
Upon the bed, a shadow, she
Lingers like smoke; indecisive
She waits for purpose and to find
That dream and meaning of her own.

*© Tara India

For the Picasso-trees as I soar by,
The blurring edges under a new sky
And feeling as though I could fly

I could just float away and drift
Or dissipate as summer mist;
Oh, what kind of existence is this?

Only content when on the run,
A craving for a different sun
To light my walk, I am one

Who is only happy while moving
Seeing, exploring, and using
Travel to convince me I’m not losing

They call it wanderlust, but
For me it’s deeper: this strange love
Of escapism, forever on and up

Will leave no hollowed out space
For me to disastrously contemplate
The oblivion echoed in my face

If I fill my days with new sights
I can ignore my night-dark eyes
And somehow sidestep the fight

To stay alive, to ignore their call;
Distraction is louder than the fall,
I am only safe in unfamiliar walls

Stand still too long and people will
Learn my darkness, the pain that fills
My heart and they will want to ****

The hollow ghost, the shadow-girl
So I keep moving around the world
For safety, will I ever learn

To be still, silent and proud
Without voices tearing me down?
Or the thought I should do it now?

So I go in search of new destinations
Lose myself in some exploration
Try to **** my mind with fascination

I’ve been here for far too long
I need to wander, let me move on
Before my soul sings its swan song

I’ve used up all the distraction here
This is the cave, the lair of fear
And my nights are filled with spiritless tears

I seek something new, some unknown;
A perhaps that could finally bring me home
Or maybe I just don’t want to be alone

So with music, and books, and trains
And friends I make just for the day
I somehow push on, the only way

I know to make this seem worthwhile
Is to keep tracking the miles
And cities, behind my glossy smile

Is desperation and a need to survive
Although daily I long to die,
I am wandering, to stay alive.

*© Tara India

My illness is in my eyes:
Do not judge me by my size
Or the normality of my thighs

My demons live in my heart,
And show themselves in part
In my all-consuming scars

But just because I seem fine
Don't presume I'm happy inside,
Or that I'm really alive;

The darkness lives within
My pale and common skin,
Driving me to destructive things

My faltering smile should be
Some clue to what haunts me;
Do not believe that I am free.

You'll see me eat and laugh,
But positivity will never last;
My sadness is not in the past

Eating disorders are not skin deep,
For when I'm tired I cannot sleep
I have many secrets to keep.

*© Tara India

The stars are dead, but they still shine
The light of their passage echoes in my eyes
For I am also wandering, a fading soul;
The sun burns too bright for my pale smile
The moon's turning seems far more worthwhile
As I hide from the bone-drenching cold

Autumn has fallen on the august land;
Summer lies slain by its clumsy, heavy hand
And her flowers wilt under the rain,
Lukewarm I sit, I breathe the musky air
Skin prickling I say it isn't quite fair
That over this land winter will resume its reign

Hollow-hearted I contemplate just how
I can live and breathe in the pain of now:
When darkness rules, not only inside
How can I be the summer girl they all expect
How can I live in awe of what comes next
If I am held by night with mid afternoon blind

They wish to see some monumental change
But I’ve been living stoppered in the same
Feelings, seasons, for all my years
I never truly felt summer in her fleeting kiss
I sleep like the dead; I must have missed
The heat and woken up to lady winter’s tears

So I remain as cold as the wind penetrating
Our respites, because I grew up hating
The way the ice keeps me trapped indoors
I didn’t realise it had crept into my heart
Until I woke up, and tried to start
Sitting in the sun and warming to something pure

My chances were fleeting, and one by one
I missed them as I anticipated the sun
This watery thing unsatisfactory, wanting better
I failed to appreciate what life had to give
Suspended animation is no way to live
And I think I’ll be waiting forever.

*© Tara India

Is it really a life, what you are living?
A slave to numbers and hate,
Turning your body into a machine,
A strange reflection of your turmoil
Tell me, is this really a life?

As you count your grapes into a bowl
Are you really feeling satisfied;
Or as you sit at home denying yourself
The pleasure of company,
Tell me, is this really a life?

Pounding feet matching the stutter
Of your heart, and the blood that
Runs sluggish in your skinny veins
As you run yourself into the ground;
Tell me, is this really a life?

Talking more to the voices inside
Your head than your old friends
Carving away at your skin;
Destroying what little of you is left
Tell me, is this really a life?

Or blindly chewing and swallowing,
Knowing you’ll hate yourself
But needing to feel, comfort is sought
In the numbness of food;
Tell me, is this really a life?

As the inevitable urge overtakes
When you’ve lost control:
You failed, you’re weak and now
As you bend over the toilet bowl
Tell me, is this really a life?

You never stop to think, well maybe
You dare not: you’re haunted
By the idea your time is wasted
So you are wasting yourself
Tell me, is this really a life?

*© Tara India

It howls inside me like a frightened child
Waking from a nightmare and shaking
The fear, the failure, the darkened eyes
All crying as my mind is breaking

It screams at the stars, their majesty
Is godless and unforgiving
My petrified gaze another call for help;
A supplication to those still living

It whimpers in the early hours,
This emptiness – this unholy void
Of desperation within my skin,
The shell I have so carefully destroyed

Its frenzied cries echo from my mouth
My lips form its endless request
Aching and heavy, it sits divine
Rests in my throat and hollow chest

It weeps – a hellish caterwaul
Of desire and perceived deprivation
My ball and chain, my hair shirt,
Symbol of my long damnation

It grovels at the feet of greater demons
Satisfaction sought in a lost soul
It drives me mad and pushes me higher
Too weak alone to achieve its goals

It screeches that with one more push,
A little further, a little longer
I can find my nirvana and my
Shangri-la – denial making me stronger

It whispers so believably and so
Trustworthy is its feeble disguise
I fall for deceit and stars and tricks
I lose myself in cunning lies

It howls once more, a victory cry
On a throne made of my heart
It sits – I am lost
Once more back to the start.

*© Tara India

I like poetry and cigarettes
I like to pretend there's nothing left
Of a heart, of my beating brain
I like to pretend I'm still the same
Girl you fell for who likes the light
I like to pretend that I'm alright

I like sunrises and late sunsets
I like to place my calculated bets
On the possibility of numbers, pounds
I like that I feel time running out
That my hours are counted and dry
I like to pretend I don't ache or cry

Or shriek, a banshee to the moon
I like to say I'll get there soon
I like to think I'm like Liz Taylor
In diamonds, not a rotting failure
I like to say I still dream of peace
That I'm not insane or craving release

I like lists, planning, and cold style
Brandy and whisky and travelled miles
I like pages filled with art
I like to think I'm still in her heart
I call myself a golden-age fighter
I like to pretend it's getting brighter
I'll say I love these things till I die
Because I've no clue who I am inside.

*© Tara India