” Because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air. ”

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Deep in the
In this tomb
Of dust.

Lend me
A hand-
Closing in
On my mortal

We’re breathing.
Hope is lost
In my endless galore
Of chirps and howls.

Leave me here-
This foliage
Of my rotten hurt.

” I’m fine, ”
Playing right into
My misery’s

I’m broken-
Joints aching
Where bones hold on.

I’m belching-
Right over this
Flowering crossroad.

We’re seeping in;
Ties breaking bonds,
Hands covered in
Crippling repulsion.

Give me something;
Give me rain
On this blinding day.
Give me that rope,
That little string
That keeps me caged.

Steer me,
Lead me,
Guide me,
To somewhere.

Where the walls don’t
Close in,
Where the blood doesn’t
Surge in.

Save me-
When I’m fooling
The play.
Rile me-
Wake me up
From myself.

Trust me,
Hold me;
Tell me
You’re not alone.

For I’ve lived
In your land
Of cracked mirrors;
Rigged to the last

While there’s
In your time
Of dark.

Hate me,
Curse me,
Abandon me
To my harm.

We’re wrecks
Of a universe
That lives on
The fiction
Of this art.

To survive in
This dump-
You’ve gotta
Rid yourself
Of the scum.

Forget me,
Erase me,
Make me a
Secret you’ll
Never take home.

For I’m you,
As you are me.
A little toxic mess,
In a world sterile and weak.

~Simran Khurana


2 thoughts on “Dump

  1. Spelling of Abandon in the fifth last stanza, third line; a typo.

    This is a great read kiddo. Couldn’t resist myself copying your lines so that I can put them as my status, obviously with your initials.

    Great work, as always!

    Liked by 1 person

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