Trauma


Am crouched against a wall in my death cell,
In another few hours, I ll die- knew that well.
I know I am not immortal for I am not God-
But this urge to live-please let me live o Lord.
I am just 18 years young, having seen very little,
Am brimming with passion, talent and mettle.
Its claustrophobic in here, flames engulfing me-
I am drowned in my own blood, I barely could see.
The clock is ticking, my heart beat haunting me,
Is there not a way out, oh supreme power it’s a plea!
I now see at a distance a hooded devilish man-
In his hand a knife, drill and the blade of a fan.
I wanted to scream, but words failing to come out-
“you are a f**king mad man” I faintly did shout.
The smell of my blood and sweat, it makes me puke,
Hot bloody tears trickle, I am hoping for some fluke.
I think he is now slowly and steadily approaching,
Every gradual step of his frantically threatening.
My death was going to be gruesome and slow,
Tis a deathly situation, my thoughts did not flow.
Finally did enter and he bored into my eyes-
Whistled some deathly tune and said time flies!
“How does thou want to die? U squirmy squid!”
His voice echoing, noises twirling in my head.
He bellowed-“Hurting u physically simply no fun!
Tormenting & torturing u mentally is what will be done.
Has been a few weeks now, am in a mental asylum-
Cant exactly recall what had happened, am today glum.
He had drained my spirit, my soul, my entire life-
I would have bettered my death by a bloody knife.

Mridula