Crimson Ophelia

i’m drawing a dull headache on the walls;
noise smeared across the room.
wreaths braided with a noose -

people aren’t a pinhole out your darkness
but you don’t see that,
in the dark.
so you punch holes in people you love,
till you’re on the other side.
there’s no dark, but it’s blinding,
their whole being lies there,
rotting in a mansion left to its own devices.
ivies don’t grow around moss gardens
in abandoned neighborhoods.
i’m sorry, where was i,
my head hurts, it’s dark;

all night i push a nail in my head,
hoping to get you a pinhole.
but you, stare at the mirror
and there’s no other side.

i want to tell you about ways to drown,
and stay drowning-
open your palm,
place a pebble from your dry eyed backyard.
clench your fists,
till your veins spasm with frigidity.

or you could go sit under the old desk in my bedroom,
keep waiting for something to fall off,
there’s a dull, boisterous ache i’ve been carrying.
i keep trying to shake it off my bath robe,
it’s still meandering in water.

dropped all my anchors along the highway,
now i’m tethering on the sidewalks;
i bare my ridged forehead onto the storm,
the air flattens my bones into skin.

this year i decide to walk into the sea,
it should finally wash itself off me;
its nauseating and hideous,
you cannot smell it, it stinks;
it stinks like a paywalled cemetery.

honey, now the sea stinks.
don’t you see? the sea is turning green in sin,
i drenched the waves in moss.
now it all stops, it keeps stopping;
and i cannot shake it off.
i shudder, i hope i can dust it off;
rub it off my skin-
like mother morbidly wipes the floor white.

meenal jhajharia