by Zozo Nadimba
The first time I died, my exodus passed me by,
And I let it,
Every night whilst my sanity deteriorated on my cheap mattress.
Like a cold lover’s kiss, the clock
Would only grant me a serenade from its fortress on the wall,
Then we would make love till morning. Tick Tock,
Daybreak, a late knight,
Would find me wrapped in the hands of time,
Hah! The irony, was I worth saving?
Night dress drenched & torn, red eyes sunken, skin scratched and ashen, Nails broken,
Distress bottled in a damsel,
Who ever said time heals, was never wounded.
Time is pain,
You wake up in pain, smile in pain, and strap pain on your wrist,
To count seconds of pain tick by, to live in pain_ life.
Life is everything, time has touched,
It greedily beats in your ribs even when all you want is to carve it out,
Your reflection daring your trembling frame in the frame.
The last time I wanted to end it, I started,
Lived for ten years, the next ten I only existed,
If my life was a canvas, it only had a red blob, painted, blooded,
So I closed my eyes,
Willed my mind to recreate the few ultimate moments I lived,
Flash after flash, word after word
Until I gathered enough paint to coat my canvas,
Until I ate air back in my starved lungs,
Until I felt a purse, a throb in my veins
Until I felt the rain on my face drip down my chin, unto my feet,
Until I bought my soul from the chains of defeat,
Until I reminded the universe that I was worth more than a slit on a wrist.
