I wonder what came over me
By Fiza Pathan
I wonder what came over me
when I cut my wrists to bleed to death the other day?
I surely did not want to see the life force vanish
and yet I scratched my tough skin mercilessly.
Then I tried to call for help
but the world was asleep when I uttered my sobbing cry.
The heat of fresh warm red liquid decorated my palms
which made me want to swoon in a faint.
I yet still wonder what came over me
when I pulled out the grey veins
in strands from my open wounds?
They looked so beautiful
that I wanted to string my banjo and play
a woeful tune to the god of death.
Then I tried to raise myself from the ground
but I saw nothing but darkness before my eyes.
I fell backwards and hit my head against a glass mirror.
It shattered and stabbed my flesh
as I sounded to the universe my silent scream.
I however wonder what came over me
when I pulled my skin from my white bones?
The flesh peeled easily as if it wanted
to be separated from my dark red and black muscles.
Then I tried to weep in pain but the tears of brine
salted my wounds and made my flesh burn.
The reeking stench of my body filled the area
where I lay down in a pool of bile and blood.
I wonder what came over me
when I started to stab my body with a blade?
There are deep cuts all over my body now
washing me with filthy body fluids.
Then I tried to holler to the darkness of the night
but the cosmos had turned its head away from me.
Yet I’ll continue to persecute myself
till I forget the past or the past forgets me.
Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan
I love this sketch
They looked so beautiful
that I wanted to string my banjo and play
a woeful tune to the god of death.
Wow, as far as metaphors go, that was amazing. And that portrait – you gotta love Van Gogh, I do.