Do I frighten thee?

I am your crucifix, not one you wear
around your neck, while you count your
rosary, but one you’re poetically nailed to,
upside down, and if you sob an unjust,
“Stigmata!” I’ll
use the spear, until your muse
drains out, and you’re of no use.

I am the panopticon in your mind with
little guards that moderate your treasonous
thoughts in their cells, wailing and weeping,
sighing and despairing, and I put down
riots with one shot.

I am your figurative iron maiden,
a chamber you’re thrown in, closed with
its spikes, before you realize that your
mind’s eye leaks, gouged, the fluid
of incoherent rambling, all you’ve got.

I am the chainsaw that slices through
your emoticons, until split, fragmented,
and dissociated, those shattered yellow
hearts, never find virtual glue, and have
nobody to run to.

I am your prosaic migraine, giving you
spots and blurs, and no amount of
pill-popping, cyber pro-apartheid
shouting, slogan chanting, and banners
of grace will give you face.

I am your metaphorical cage, even though
you think you’re a phoenix rising,
you’ll soon realize that you’re a
pink lovebird sobbing, begging, despairing,
needing freedom.

I am incapable of love,
capable of hate, and
chock-full of apathy, a vortex
of nonchalance, spiraling within,
engulfing like the freezing
mist on the mountainside,
and if you forget, I’ll forget
to even think of you, but
if you hold grudges, I’ll
dig the grave, flicking off
your syllables, with the quickness of
a magician’s sleight of hand.

I know things that pushed me into
nihilism, I’ve seen things you can’t
imagine that catapulted me through
barriers into the enemy’s green abyss,
where I stand alone, with no fear
anymore, because I exist for no
purpose, and don’t expect a poem,
or want me as your piece of art,
I’ll never be your Rembrandt,
no I’m worse than your Scream,
and if you think these are lines
typed on a page, find me, and look
into my eyes, and know that even if
you were to stab, or hack, I’ll cry
in agony because of the sting, but
I’ll smile, giving you no respite or repose,
never begging for mercy, agitating and
agonizing you, and laughing
with bloody spittle
before I fade to black.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

16 responses

  1. Each of the first six stanzas gets stunningly blacker, plunging into the darkness of the longer last two stanzas. My “like” is for the poetic skill than for the subject matter! A mind panopticon would scare the hell out of me.

      • I’m going through a dry spell to be honest. And I plan to go away to the mountains to get some literary work that I do on the side finished. And so, before my break I want to post a few of my best poems or prose pieces and then switch off. I managed to get my poem republished because of the kind publishers. It’s called For Alisha. It’s there on the blog. So, I guess I can call myself a published writer again. And the magazine is growing. Stephen King contributed this time. I think you’ll like the poem, although my influences have changed over the years. Stay in touch. I’m a little boring when it comes to e-mails, but I can try. Use the contact form if you want to.

      • You are so prolific I cannot imagine a dry spell; maybe a quiet one. I shall read you whenever I can – your writing brings me back for more.
        Alas, I am a terrible emailer! I am so far behind ….and barely keeping up with reading new posts from the people I follow. Shall I blame my job or just some fatigue or perhaps sometimes being overwhelmed by some of the intense writing I stumble across.
        But rest assured if you fall silent for an unusual period I shall indeed reach out my faraway friend. 😊

  2. This reminded me of the feel I had when I was reading ‘The shining’ by Stephen King!😨

    And my ‘like’, again, is for the skill. 😂

    • Thank you. Haha. I’m planning to write a few more terrifying ones. And orange, be the lemon you’re meant to be. Fulfil your destiny. Join me. *Extends dark hand*

      • Whhaaatt? More terrifying ones? I hope they aren’t as terrifying as this one 😲
        The lemon in me never wakes up 😂

        And by the way, I am really waiting for ‘hermeneutics of smileys’! I hope these dark hands type it soon! *Hand shake*

      • Yes, my robotic, Darth Vader hands will type them soon. The orange is still attracted to the light. Join the dark side! Quick! Okay I’ll have to work on the hermeneutics of smileys now. I’m giving it a philosophical edge btw. Go read one of my earliest satirical posts. It’s called the Emperor’s Demise. I think you’ll enjoy it.

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