Poetry
Bleeding Ears Need More
Day and night.
With every passing minute
Of me breathing heavily,
It occurs to me,
What is it that I still lack?
And what I still lack
Is a far louder noise,
rupturing my ears,
with roots deep in hell.
And which keeps me pleased.
Poisoned, yet still starving,
the tunes rising from the piano,
soothes no more.
Infected and burning,
the hunt goes on
For a more pleasant feeling.
Oh, the one that burns the fire.
Every night throughout this episode,
It occurs to me
What I’ve been dreaming about.
What I’m running away from
Is a world without sounds.
And so much more.
Flickering in the twilight,
Eyes filled with tears
and my burning urges.
My beloved ears,
They bleed every day
They bleed every night
They are my true friends
But they make me sick.
Indian writer
Note: In this poem, I wanted to write about chronic addiction issues and self-harm in quite a different way. I chose to point it out as though music (loud and noisy) was the device of this addiction and the ears were the victims. With this, I also tried to equate this madness to the disturbed psyche of a person who constantly gets hurt by people but still chooses to ignore his wounds and keeps hurting himself, bringing us back to the topic of self-harm.
