Lunar Sanity

My days are busy, bustling, peaceful. As evening approaches, the moon begins to reveal its skeleton- a ghostly apparition of scarred beauty on the immense dark soul of the sky. I look at it and sigh.
The world seems to have gone numb with the appearance of the skeletal moon and my sigh sounds like a resounding 'whooooshh'. The air refuses to carry the sound or gobble it up, refuses to be disturbed from its deadly calm reverie and so the sound just lingers somewhere around me.

To normalcy I have returned long since, but I often find myself doubting this so called 'normalcy' (I so hate the word). All alone without even the ghost of a being or a movement, without even an absent-minded stir of the air, I feel acutely the absence of the peace of the day's bustle.

Can't hear a damn thing but I think that the fury of this silence
will deafen me. Nobody around yet a million colours dance like multi-coloured
snowflakes in front of my eyes.

Demons pull at my hair and I laugh and I scream. Laugh because I'm being silly-like and I know that the horror exists only inside my head; scream, because since it's 'only inside my head' I live and relive the horror, I create it and revel in it, and because it is incessant. And I perpetuate it, feed it, as only I can. (My very own psychological Frankenstein?!?) Feed the sadness-tinged, horror-filled conjectural world with instances from a dearth less pit of beauty and of pain. Feed my Being with insanity and Insanity with my being.

I look on with dancing eyes borrowed from a madwoman, watching the fire she put to the world burning everything that belongs to her, belonged to her, the entire cosmos, herself.

I cry dry tears thinking that now, even now if I could I wouldn't change a thing- not a single damn thing. I look at the moon, in all its splendour now, the shadows and scars more pronounced that ever, and I let out the animal wail I'd held inside me for months, years...for a lifetime full of lifetimes.