Tag: poetry

Trap

When you’re staring, there’s no time to look within or around, to question the limits to which we’re bound. 

I’m locked in a room under a screen’s burning glow, ropes knotted around my ankles and wrists, embedded into a chair. My eyelids peeled back in a trap, neck jutted back, consuming all day until I’m braindead by night. 

One man’s torture is another man’s cycle. A pain numbed into motion, sticking like rot until I’m nothing but primal. The claw’s are clamped around my sockets, clip after clip after clip, rubbed in like lotion with a finger flick. No break for a light switch. No chance for the mind to slip. Just noise to suffocate and paralyse in an eternal head grip. 

Years have passed since this contraption was latched to my skull. Jigsaw’s blow. It’s an easy game to play, one rooted in mass pedestrian sway. I’ll just watch until death takes the static away. All the big questions – why am I here, when did I write this note – kept far at bay. 

There’s nothing keeping me here. I can wrestle off these restraints if I had drive to spare. In the periphery, there’s no chainsaw ready to lacerate my spine, or a mechanism twisting my body into disrepair. Uncertainty is my greatest fear, so maybe distraction is the only way out of this. A steady nightmare between extremes, keeping us together at the seams. 

In this life, everything rhymes. A slipstream with easy dots. No time to pause, hesitate, pull on the handbrake. Why would I snap out of this? Just look at the seasons I’ve conquered over the summer break. At the end of the day, this life is mine. I’ll resume my freedom after episode nine. 

Iconic

It’s been 18 hours since somebody said it. 

The Taj Mahal fell on March 26. Days before that, the Eiffel Tower. Historical landmarks desecrated by a force invisible to the naked eye, all because we can’t see beyond ourselves and what’s come before. A word tossed around without care, without gravity, at the cost of humanity’s gateways through time. 

It’s mostly kids trying to impress friends after dark. A cataclysmic game of Truth or Dare, or an excited exaggeration after watching average pop stars on YouTube. Nobody can comment on Met Gala dresses anymore. Or share memes of sassy put-downs from reality TV. The danger is too high that somebody will slip. Governments can only go so far in slowing the inevitable, so human history is against the clock. 

Nobody knows how this all started – whether an alien entity or human callousness. Terrorist groups are trying to claim it. Russia and North Korea are welcoming the suspicions. For the religious, it’s validation. Authors are emboldened by the power of words. Others simply don’t care. Man has toppled statues before, why do a few world wonders matter that most cannot afford to see? Time moves on. A shift from one age to another. A cultural reset. 

I write this under Big Ben’s shadow. Police have tried to block off the area fearing it could come down any second, but there’s not enough manpower to monitor it around the clock. The impact of the word is international, with no way to predict which landmark will be next. I’ve seen the word used for superhero movie scenes at the cost of the Golden Gate Bridge. A Kelly Clarkson cover of Bloc Party brought down the pyramids. There’s no way of policing such senseless praise. No way to stop the ease of our satisfaction. 

Many have given up on whatever comes after. This is a dividing line in mankind’s occupation of Earth. A sign of the end, they argue. Everybody wants to be on the right side of history though, even if it means burying themselves along with it. 

There’s no reality where I’m remembered like these monuments. Nothing outshines those which have stood for centuries. We’re inconsequential maggots wriggling between borders, trying to find purpose on the shoulders of ancestors. These are our pillars, the only gods humanity can see. When they fall, I’ll make sure my blood is etched into the debris.