Survival of the fittest?

The human mind: an intricately woven tapestry of logic, forever baffling the onlooker with such casual majesty. The more one tries to unravel its pathways, the deeper they find themselves trapped into this labyrinth. Just a few sparks running up and down invisible cells, in terms of physics. Just a few hormones holding together the fort of sanity, in terms of chemistry. Creation at its finest, in terms of religion.

Doesn’t it steal your sleep every night then, just thinking of what it is capable of? Everything we do–everything our brain commands our vulnerable bodies to do– is for the sole purpose of better survival. Struggle for existence is what we have evolved to master. Survival of the fittest is what nature has ensured, ever since the beginning of time.

Then how does a perfectly healthy person go into self-destruct mode? How do the same chemical messengers that keep you sane, turn their guns against the body they are supposed to be serving? How do the same electrical impulses convince the mind that the world would be a million times better without them in it? That the feeling of despair would leave once you start slitting your skin? That intoxication is the answer to all problems? That death cures all infliction?

The same brain producing the hand-jerk reflex, should your finger contact fire, is now telling you to jump over the cliff when you’re on a family trip to the mountains. The same brain that stops you from eating moulded food, should you get ill, is now reluctant to move from in front of a truck advancing towards you while you’re crossing the road. What snaps in the mind to think that the body it serves is not enough. Not fit to survive. What makes it refuse any struggle to exist?

 

Escape

There is poison in my eyes
Let me cry it out
Hate boils in my veins
Let me bleed it out
My soul, it suffocates
In this vessel you put it in
Let me set it free
Let me taste escape
Let me cry and bleed and die
For I no longer have the cure
The drugs, they don’t numb anymore
The brain is always throbbing
With a never ending pain
And then this itching desire
to claw at the veins
Why don’t you let me free the mind
The bliss that lies beyond the veil
Is calling out to me, my friend
The peace the grave must bring
Surpasses this sleep they put me in
And the heaven that runs through these tubes
No more tastes the same as you
So I lay in this bed, commatose
And I no longer have the cure
The brain wants to let go of the soul
And the veins want to let go of the blood
And the eyes, they never stop
Pouring memories of you in stone
And the heart, it keeps on beating
Singing rhythms of dellusions
Let me cry and bleed and die
Before the soul lets go of hope

Hiccups

Remember how Mother would say every time we’d get hiccups, that somewhere somebody must be thinking of you, or missing you, or talking of you. And at the mention of their name, the hiccups will stop. She’d say the hiccups serve as a reminding-tool, making us keep our loved ones in our hearts forever, never letting us forget them.

Well, I sit here tonight in the cold of your abandoned room, my face buried in a pillow, wet with tears and blood. The soft muffling my sobs. Your rusting blade is in my hand, speckled with blood that’s been running stale now. It’s 3 am and I’ve been thinking of you. Fresh warm scarlet is trickling down my arms. Have those hiccups come yet? I miss you. Your memories are poisoning my present. Everyday they grow and consume my sanity inch by inch.

Have those hiccups come already? Have you taken my name yet?  They tell me to forget you. How can I? They tell me you’re in a better place. Is that true? Then why would you leave me in such misery? You haven’t forgotten your big sister have you? Why don’t those hiccups come? I’m going mad maybe, for expecting you to think of me. Yes, I must be going mad, expecting corpses to hiccup and speak.