Your bones are falling to the sound of gravity
The beats are rising.
Scars are like leaves scattered on the ground
Crunching as you try to let go of your wounds and walk.
Your head is between two walls, ready to get crushed
You don’t even have a place to hang it down in resignation anymore.
You are what’s holding your backbone from breaking, not the other way round
If this isn’t the apocalypse, then what does it look like?
You found her in your music box, hiding beneath the lid
Suddenly your favourite songs are a death march.
Your home will always be buried inside the confines of someone else’s house now,
And the sky can’t fall down anymore because there is no sky.
You are trying to fight the battles that never even happened
You’ve made a battle out of the rattling of your joints.
You can’t win this fight, remember
Because there isn’t no enemy; it’s all you, the winner and the loser.
This is the city of defeat, darling.
Your songs will die here.
Your home will die here.
Your loves will die here.
You are the city of defeat.
You will die within yourself
And they will stand watching, because men
By Prithiva Sharma.
Prithiva Sharma is a nineteen year old student from India currently studying English Literature. She is a big procrastinator, and spends her time writing poetry instead of assignments. Her work has previously been published in online magazines like Germ and Brown Girl Magazine. She has upcoming pieces in Poethead and is part of an anthology by Brown Girl Magazine. You can find more of her work at instgram/prithivaaa.
Featured artwork by Jon Juarez.