A Collision.
If I took two guns, and put them to each temple of my hapless brain
And shot at once, the sound doubled- louder than the 3AM train
In the silence, resounding- echoes louder than the demons
My mind ecstatic, one of a prisoner-turned-freeman’s.
I wonder if the bullets would collide dramatically in the mid
Of my head, forcing my skull open- like taking off a stubborn lid.
I wonder if it would explode, graphically, pouring cruel
The contents of my mind onto the floor in a dark red pool.
A friend of mine, Ritwik, wrote a similar short dark piece:
I would love to crack your beautiful skull open. Like a walnut. Split it in two. Cut it with a sharp, sharp knife. Carefully spooling the insides of your head, trying to get all the answers to all my questions. There’s not one thing that I don’t want to know. Then slit my throat with an even sharper blade. Let the crimson red flow out. With it, all the remaining animation that refuses to leave my body like a parasite.
Reflecting on all I’ve lost in this pathetic journey some call life. Contemplating on the reason of my very existence. Why am I here? Do I want to be here? What do I want?
Faint echoes of distant times which are of no consequence at all now. Handful sweet memories that give me a weak smile even though I’m slowly fading away. Thinking about that ice cream I never tasted. That girl I never asked out. Tranquility. From the warmth of the cold floor I’m lying on. Finally finding a connexion.
But it’s too late now.
See you on the otherside.
The Knack Of Flying 