Posted in The Society



©Heart_Art_Poetics Presents

It’s hard to think when all you can see is black and blue. The green on their faces as they tore her apart incessantly played in her mind like a loop. Over and over and over. The excruciating pain tore her apart as if to make room for itself in her body. Neither did she shed a tear. Cover girls don’t cry after the makeup is done.
 Her knees buckled from the weight of their blows and like a lamb to the slaughterer she meekly surrendered to them. She lay on the cold hard earth, her pain blanketed by the dark of night. Darkness was misjudged. It was perceived as a home for chaos, evil and death, but she had always found a companion in its arms, so even in this flailing times she bit her teeth into it and held it so tight in a lover’s embrace.
She was sprawled on the ground like a canvas, letting the painters have their way, resisting nothing. The more she was numb to it all the more the blows and taunts kept falling on her in riding crescendo as there’s an anger so powerless that comes when the victim is in utter surrender. There’s a rage that burns when one discovers that they’re trying to shatter an already completely broken vessel.  That all you’re doing is pouring water into an ocean. She had completely sold her soul to her purgers and they kept at her till she could smell the soil become moist with blood. Her childhood memory of sweet smelling soil after a drizzle was replaced with the dirty smell of fresh blood mixed with soil. 
She was one against many and if this was the price she had to pay for standing up for what was left of her dignity, she would gladly pay. She would die proud even if no one but the dark would know. And time being the most cruel of things dragged as if in collaboration with her purgers thus everything else, in loyal submission, moved infinitely slower. 
 She was in unspeakable pain and all her clogged mind drifted to was the two little birds, early in the morning, one named peter one named Paul. 
Peter was blue. Every morning he sang to her with the voice of a hummingbird. He would let the timbre of his voice glide right to the core of her being. He had a power to craft words into forms that made any sane mind erotic, as he folded his “I love yous” into notes that would perfectly fit the creases made of her insecurities. She was his muse and he would bend nature backwards for her if need be. His wings around her were the safest place she knew. 
Paul, the red bird, always had a raw desire in his eyes that burnt like dry wood when they met hers. He was moulded of pure passion so wild at the feel of her skin against his. His love was never pure, it bore undertones of lies, selfishness and lust. His wings around her were always in contempt of whoever else wanted to exist or even simply breathe around her. His love was always spoken in either breathy or wheezy voices anytime he was awash with the tide of her breathing. He was an addict to her drug, in so deep she could never even save him. 
If she would die tonight, there was only one thing she would regret. She should have let her children meet their fathers. Now she would die and they would remain all alone in a society with its hands too full of needs that they would just be part of the statistics. But they knew their names. They knew the song. “Two little birds, one named Peter, one named Paul”. They knew not it’s essence.
It was hard to tell when it all stopped but suddenly the air hung thick and quiet. Her blood was cold against her skin. She did not allow herself to shut her eyes as she had chosen,  unlike many people, to walk into the arms of death with her eyes open. To see her regret hurl itself upon her and cling like chains around her. 
She heard footsteps. They grew closer and closer and the heaviness in them, the way one foot stayed on the ground just a tad bit longer felt so awfully familiar. Then they hurried, running towards her. She felt a warm rough hand against her face and before she passed out she willed herself to face this person. She knew him and allowed herself to sink into the unconscious in his all too familiar arms. It had been long but they still felt the same. 
” It’s me. You’ll be alright.” He said.

*Stay Tuned For TUSSLES IN THE DARK 05*




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