the exact middle

it all began in bright hysteria,
a purple syrup you swallow;
the one lovers smear on their palms-
you might as well call it
the moment sitting at the edge of a knife,
legs dangling atop fervent obsession.

all night i count the days from the beginning,
in between you whisper - “snap out of it”
as if there was a road to enter-
as if insanity comes with instructions.

it’s morning, the dawn is breaking out of my skull,
i ask you to sit in the exact middle,
tiptoe on the barbed wire, of not belonging;
there’s a fleck of blood on my fingers,
i’m wrestling between neurotic fringes.

all night i mumble “all or nothing”,
i wake up and you’re lying headless,
love at peripheries of delirium always rests like a corpse;
i bake you a pie, you see, i’m done with the middle;
you can have it all, so there’s nothing left for me.

meenal jhajharia