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Carcass of a Self

Namitha Varma Rajesh

I cringe when I touch it.

Shrivelled,
crumply,
putrid remains
of a self.

Wandering in the corridors of my inner being,

this was the last thing I thought I’d see.

I watch amazed,
amused,
appalled –
unsure of how to react to the rotting remains
– a part of me I never knew existed.

Transfixed, I sit
in a corner, staring at this carcass,
too scared to leave,
too afraid to touch it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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