Songs

Silent killer

They say it's a silent killer,
But oh, you don't need a sound to know it's there, months and even years before it takes hold of your neck,
To know it's starting once more, but you ignore it,
You ignore it because it's just too much to relive,
It's too much to remember because you tried so hard to forget, your brain did it's best to forget,
But I remembered, not the whole thing, no,
But bits and pieces,
Scattered memories fogged by the time, like pictures that mice nibbled on,
Fogged by the defence mechanism for traumas,
I can steal clearly see the picture though, her neck in that thing, her warm hands, so warm, like sunlight,
And me, standing by the wretched white metal, so small, so weak and useless, confused to as to what could be happening, still naive and truthful,
No one explained, but now that I look back, I think that even then I knew...
I now realise that even then she had the smell,
The faded outline,
Even from the first time,
The first time I saw the off-mint walls and a bed so cold,
But even more so from the second time,
It doesn't make a sound, the victim is quite too,
But the smell and the visuals,
They are overwhelming me and they'll forever keep doing it, they'll keep replaying and resurfacing,
Like cheap cliche in movies when it happens and I know the person won't make it,
Cheap cliche of rebirth,
Cheap cliche of grieving and forgiveness,
But I do not grieve, not like other people do,
It was her choice, her choice to be a coward,
She said for my sake, but really she was afraid,
She could've gone earlier, maybe there would've been saving, maybe, maybe not, but there'd be more of a chance at the very least,
I don't blame her for being scared, she felt like she'd never come back once she went,
That is why she started on the one last cliche as the pain pierced her neck, in that same wretched spot,
She tried to forgive, to forgive her parents who didn't know how to love her, to forgive any ancestor that may have done wrong, to fix the wrongs so that her sunshine may live better,
She never untangled the ball of yarn, but she started it and I'm thankful for that,
She was human, just a human, but for me she shone brightly,
Even when she cried, even when in hospital, even with hands of her father pressed against her neck in the kitchen as her mother yelled at me to go upstairs, instead of saving her child,
I won't forget, maybe I won't forgive either, I'll let it go, I won't let it affect me,
It's the past and I cannot change it,
It was horrid, like the dirt under the sunflower, full of the dead,
But the sunflower that she was was enough for me,
She was always enough for me,
The first time her smell, the vanilla milk, disappeared it was replaced to that of a dying grass,
Her outline thinned and blurred, but her figure was still clear,
She made it out, with a scar, but she made it out,
But the second time, oh the second time,
I left her there, alone in the wretched green and white,
A sea of people, no, not people,
Those things were not humans although they possessed the form,
They were but lost souls wandering the frenzy hallways,
I remember even before that moment, her smell, the smell of cigarettes and sandalwood,
It begun being foul once more,
As the time progressed it only grew worse,
I know that smell from the forest,
It is the smell of the rotting leaves that covered a carcass of a hedgehog or a squirrel,
A foul smell that you wouldn't smell unless you had a keen sense... or unless you accidentally kicked it,
but I smelled it on her, and it kept worsening...
Now that I think about it, we both knew she won't ever come back home in the end,
Her outline was fading much more quickly, but her inside started to bleach as well,
The sunflowers were dying,
But we persisted, she didn't want that way, but she was told she had to,
She was scared, she looked like a child, so thin and bony, her hand so incredibly small within mine,
She forced a smile, like all the heroes do, but she wasn't a superhuman, she was just another person,
My grandfather told me we are picking her up from the hospital and taking her home,
But something didn't sit right with me, I wrote it off to my lack of empathy,
She held me close that day and laid in my lap the whole trip back home,
I went out with the friend the next day,
A friend who was like a sister to me at one point, but then she just became aware of how bad she feels around me, so we fought until we were friends no more,
I may not have gone if I knew, but what would've I done? It actually happened the day before,
She had a stroke, a thrombus went loose in her brain,
And everything stopped.
They wouldn't let me visit her.
Grandma would come every week or so, to cook me a proper meal she said, liar, she was getting away from the sight she knew was hopeless, lying to herself to the upmost of her abilities,
I was prepared every day for my grandma to come back wearing all black, her eyes puffy and red,
I was alone in the house, I wasn't scared, I was just tired of being aware of how much people hide from me,
I went to school, I ate, but everything was just so bleak, monochromatic, I was a robot, no one noticed,
I wasn't a child, almost an adult really, but they hid it like that was going to change the facts,
I even told her to pull the plug if they can or give her an injection, that it would've been more humane, she almost slapped me, how dare I she screamed,
But really she was afraid to face the truth that although illegal in our country death at that point would've been better then what she was going through,
And then they told me she is well enough to be brought to the hospital in the town,
I didn't know what to expect, what to think, or maybe I did,
But when I went to the hospital and smelled the air and saw her in that state, I knew that wasn't my mother,
Maybe somewhere deep there was a glimpse of her, a memory, she let out horrid, beastly sounds,
She cried a lot, she couldn't look at me because of the hospital lights,
My grandmother said she recognised me, but I doubt that was recognition, it was a cry for death from an animal that knows it's beyond helping,
I, however, had no say in the matter.
I am thankful my father booked me a month and a half with him at that time,
I would've had to be hospitalised in an asylum if I spent that time there,
The night she died I cried, I wasn't consciously aware why, but subconsciously I knew,
Everyone in my class was told before me,
Everyone in our town knew before me,
I cried when my father told me, but I also made cynical jokes, like always,
My father cried too, she was his biggest love as per say, one who granted him a child, his only child, a little girl they both loved beyond imaginable,
Adults are useless, really, they are no better than children even when they act high and mighty,
Then I covered myself with a glass bell filled with water, the voices around me would just echo, the faces would blur,
I was pushing myself to be a little kinder, a little nicer, a little more approachable,
For many I seemed like I was even better than before, that I am even better than before,
I wasn't and I still aren't,
I had to push because if I stopped, I wouldn't have been able to continue,
And I feel like I'll share the faith of my mother,
I'll die fairly young, from the silent killer or perhaps at the end blade of my own revolt,
I don't mind the thought, living to be old doesn't sound fun, I'll leave the world to those who do and who will also have children, the new generation, just like my peers were,
What I mean is that I will surely fail,
But I hope that at least my ideas will take roots,
So that they may live to flourish one day.