- Les Gazzette
BY TIYA PARMAR
I wield all the weapons
That can threaten me,
I wield them;
And so does my enemy.
When I point a gun at her,
She points it right back-
A mirror image of scaring precision-
A little more pressure on the trigger,
And I will be rid of her.
Forever.
Her sharp, resonating voice
will never keep me awake at night,
Or make me cry.
So startlingly similar to mine
(And yet so much better)
Will never remind me ever again,
That I don't deserve to live.
She won't jest and taunt and poke
At remains of mistakes long past-
Wounds that burn
And still make me writhe
In agonizing pain,
Wounds that cover every inch of my face,
Scarring it ugly.
So many uncountable wounds
that she put there.
She never let's me heal
Or breathe
She chokes and suffocated
Like a noose around a neck.
She allows me to climb the ladder,
While she holds it steady....
Then tips it over. I fall.
End up with a broken hand or leg,
Just another hindrance.
She does it always.
Over and over again.
She's the noose around my neck,
So she's better of dead.
I pick up my gun.
She's looking at me,
Her eyes a darkening shadow of disbelief.
I laugh,
She thought I didn't have it in me!
But this is it-
My gun pointing at her,
A last moment to savour.
What a turn of tables!
The barrel of my gun presses into the skin
Of her temple,
And I feel how she feels-
The cold, bitter metal,
A circular hollow
Digging, pressing painfully.
My finger on the trigger,
About to press down,
My first ever murder...
I hesitate,
Looking into her unaccepting eyes.
After all, they do mirror mine!
So I close my eyes,
And just do it.
Because it has been time enough.
The gun goes off,
A loud echo.
The last ringing sound echoing in our
Blown out heads.