I Could Have Been Your Life If You Wouldn’t Have Been My Death 


Sadness comes with the toll of the bells, recurrent, I’m becoming one with it.The mark of death upon my head, a thousand ravens fly from my orbs taking flight to the sky that is moonlit.
Wild hunger screams from deep within, a chaos in my throat resides,
Tearing the skin, but what’s left inside is a long lost scream.
Unsatisfied, dying alive, now what is left to ask from you?
Another skin that breathes with me, you are someone I never knew.
I don’t trust another being, a new human born every day, leaving less space to breathe and more skin to lick.
I’m struggling to survive, struggling to drink from their necks, I’m struggling like a flower in the desert.
I’m another skin, I’m another wind, I’m the weight of the bones that walks only to be fed to them.
I’m survival of the weakest, I’m dust in her cellar.
I’m the last thought in your mind and the invisible person in your life.
I’m gravelly ill and sadly sick, become sadness that is born from the weak.
I’m a mental disease, I’m Xanax down your throat, 
I’m hallucinations, I’m the lonely boat.
I’m a human with a name plate, I’m a number in the population,
I’m dew drops in the rain and winter when you are naked.
I’m a year when I was born, I’ll be a body when I’ll die, 
I’ll be my death certificate, your last memory and lonely cry. 
I’ll be a smiling face in the pictures, a scar in the sky, a forgotten disease and a living who passed by.
I’ll be dead and more, putrid and gore,
I’ll be fire if you burn me and I’ll be desire if you lit me,
I’ll be your hand if you ask me to, I’ll be your strength if you want me to.
I’ll be more than just skin and bones,
I’ll be more than a grave stone.
I’ll be a father to the new born kids,
I’d be the money to the homeless in need,
I’d be river that is bone dry, I’d be your evening slowing passing by,
I’d be the city you live in and your death bed,
I’d be your new year and eight glasses of wine in pain.
I can be more than the skin that is dry, I can be more than the lonely winter’s cry.
I can be more than the haunting silence in my cries, I can be a human and more than what meets the eye.

© Aniket More

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