An incident | Laxmi Hariharan
“ the detective is searching and searching and searching, and the culprit is him. ”
July 8, 2015
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August 29, 2015
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An incident

Run along then in your little box.
The one you created.
And set about lining with velvet on the inside. Iron on the outside.
That deep, un-penetrable wall. And a raindrop gets in.
Eases in.
Teases itself in.
Worms itself into your ear.
Lodges in your brain.
Grows till it fills your every waking hour.
And screams at night.
So you can’t ignore it any more.
And a sudden flash of insight. A spotlight on yourself
Of what you were. What you have now become.
That cocoon you created. Comfortable. Soft.
Spun so tight, it fits you just right. Like a little black leather dress
That chokes you so hard, you can’t breathe
So, you have to hold yourself up, straight, suck in your stomach, put on a face
And somewhere along the way, you’ve become just that. That face.
The one you saw fleeting glimpses of.
The one you swore you’d never be.
And then you wake up and you just are.
That face.
Yet, you ask. If one little drop could create such havoc
If it could dispel the story with a touch
Then, what are you now?

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