I am a mad woman

Locked in the attic of my fragmented mind

Where life like images keep passing by

Is it happening or has it happened?

Is it real? Or is reality false?

I’m always in it

But never there.

 

Screaming nothingness with meanings

Scorned by the voices of my judgment

I have been robbed of my identity

By the urge of being more so like them.

And now I am them, but where is me?

 

I am a cold murderer

The culprit of my own flesh

Bloodthirsty devil with masked face,

Gloved hands and black soul

My hollow deadly eyes reflect

All that I have been subjected to.

 

The light rebounding off the sharp edged knife

Dances on the wall to my right

And unshed tears- fall on my bruised feet

As the knife meet her scarred flesh

For one last time.

 

I do not cringe. I had to kill her-

Who has been residing in my head

Since years without paying rent.

She who claims to be a creation of me

Has somehow settled on my throne

Like humans in the world of the Lord.

 

So why is it that I struggle to breathe

And ache where the metal kissed her skin

Why is red pooling around my disfigured black feet?

I feel my soul levitating, transcending in a different world.

I am dying, but she does not die.

If I killed her first, how did she kill me?

I wonder as the mind fades. And she evades.

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