What You Kill, Kills You- Sohini Chatterjee

Guest writer Sohini Chatterjee wows on Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink

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At ten past two at night I push

sorrow out of ashen tongue, cigarette burnt lips,

stained sweater of blood, injury and sweat,

and spell T.R.A.U.M.A in hundred different

ways.

The mother commands homicide

of naked blisters and turgid wounds

before the stench of guilt reaches the shore

and screams breathless; I acquiesce.

Now every third Sunday after seven

satin sashes hide hidden sores

so that fine wine and finer lies can turn antidote again

So

I laugh ten times four every third minute

and count till five to stab at the heart twice

and pull out one strand after another

of hair lost to laughter lost to pain

and pull regret out of my skin

and hold it close,

until I choke.

And then at ten past two at night

demon slaying pills birth acrid truths

hold me by the neck

and force me to spell T.R.A.U.M.A

again.


Sohini Chatterjee…

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