Headstones: Slavery for an Unspoken



“I will never write you all headstones when you die”, I yell trying to scrape off stains of your memories from the ruined floor of my heart where once stood walls with our photo frame nailed on it. All those nights of flogging and making me beg for every next breath that was supposed to fill my punctured lungs made me incapable of using my knees for standing again, forcing me to drag down my own torn skin on this cemented floor to move across. These were the days when I used to break down seeing my reflections in the stretches of this floor that somehow got polished from all my weight pushing itself over it ceaselessly but I used to wish that I could have never stopped in a hope someday someone would come and would be able to see that I was trying to spell out help in my own language with those last drops of blood that kept my consciousness alive if and only if you could have taught me yours too had words other than one for your insatiable desires. My eyesight has weakened now, far beyond to recognize which one of you comes violates me this time, the tongue doesn’t remember words other than the ones I use to beg you to stop and my skin has lost its remembrance of warmth and still, you do not believe me when I tell you that even now I cannot recognize the heat between my legs you told me I had a natural taste for.
After all these years of deciding to move out of all this, I am still here growing old like the universe with emptiness spreading within me and hope burning down the horizon that I always wanted to run across. Lost beyond the use of my senses for directions I am left with no way to go, after all, this is the only life I ever had a chance to live. Though the lack of happiness has always haunted me yet there is an unknown ache entwined to it that lie untouched by any hands or unflooded by salty tears that I lick to go off to sleep every night. All of my naked body is now overused, having been stretched like a canvas each and every moment only to be marked with words without definitions and their fingers that embroid all nightmares of mine as their achievements while they mistook my breathlessness for orgasms and I disguised every missed heartbeat as ride full of thrill. I might have breathed lust more than oxygen, had aphrodisiacs more than food, tasted their skin more than my own mouth, drank them more than water and yet I always had carried detest beyond measure for every inch of it.
I might look like an assaulted but I have also been an assaulter for ending germinating seeds of lives that somehow used to find their way inside me, just to save one of my own but with these final breaths I promise to visit you on all your graves when you die to let you know that now, when all your part is done you need to believe me that no words in any language known will ever weigh enough to keep the pen down to write an apology for gambling out my soul every night, making me curse my birth for all the suffering I have to endure. No headstones will ever be enough to engrave darkness each one of you carried all this while, no pleads will ever be enough to let Lord have mercy on slaved hollow souls!


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