Unwilling

She lies on the kitchen floor
Counting thoughts as her dreams melt away
Blending into the black and white pattern
Drawing the path on the way down to the drain
And she does not care what people may say
If she were to stay there for a lifetime or two
She regrets the pain she exposes
As written with ink on her skin
Scars from the past that reveal what still hurts
As marks of the wars she did not care to fight

‘That’s my heart you have taken, those my arms,
And my feet, and the back of my head,
This my voice you have silently broken, and part of my soul,
These my speaking and walking that you’ve kindly wrecked’

Hundreds of feet or she reckons
Comb every inch of her quietness
And the disturbing humming on her ear
That distracts her from her self-compelled sleep
Little carriers of dust and waste
Simple things we miss everyday

She will not stand up on her feet for a while
She will not defy anyone for some time
As she turns into liquid and dives in through the pipes
She will not take the hand that’s beside her
She’ll refuse anyone’s help
And she will not ask for mercy
Or listen, or even care what you have to say
As she grows roots to the ground and turns into a tree

She’s decided her fate tasting the honey that runs through her lips
Admiring the colors displayed
by some wine and some milk spilled over dead flowers
And the smell of sweet coffee and cake
Set on a table that waits for the guests