The ticking clock and her millionth attempt

The wine turned red, 

The cushion softened, 

The lights glimmered, 

Music held hands with pieces of her battered soul

As she mustered the courage to lift the blanket, sit up for a moment and ponder upon the idea of there still being a day left until it’s all over

Of making the millionth attempt to cut deep into the trauma of existing for too long, too bitter while the screeching walls of her room danced to the never before tunes of a meek possibility

Inhaling, exhaling, without choking this time

Romancing the shadow of lone trails

Gulping in the reds of blood & wine alike

Swiftly transcending into a body out of her own, stepping away, one shaky step at a time

To turn around & take a good look at this stranger of a person who looked like rotten familiarity was stitched into her delusional skin

To look at the person she had become without her consent

To notice the wrinkles of ageing without purpose

And the scars of making it through days of unthinkable choices

Nights of shushing-up band-aids made out of the numbing explosives of this battlefield of a life

To look at her yearning, still eyes, through the vision of these untouched pair of fierce eyeballs, set the notion of reality on fire

Locked the ticking clock under the realms of a life unlived

And the doorbell rang,

One of the two burst into flames, evaporating into nothingness, the other one sighed. 

who did? I wonder.

– Tanya