my reflection stares back at me;
it taunts and mocks my glum figure.
"look at you weakling, planted on the ground
like a weed
and still not courageous enough to dig
deeper into your wrists."
my wide eyes tremble from it's glare;
the metal kissed wrists settles with red.
my metallic paintbrush turns into a shovel
as it digs deeper to find the perfect root
soon
the shovel turns into a knife as it
cuts down my only supply.
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so,
no mother, it wasn't your sweet scoldings
which allured me into this;
no brother, it wasn't our bickering
which pushed me into this;
and
no father, it wasn't your sting affection
which could have stopped me from this.
it was her,
whose ice cold gaze lit fire within me.
it was her,
who drowned me into the ocean of disparity.
it was her,
who placed the paintbrush into my palms
and dragged it across the pale white skin.
so,
tonight
when a shiny obstruction is placed in front of me,
i would meet her again.
