From Iman,

Please if there is any of my body for a coffin, don’t trap it in again, throw it in filth and decay, that’s the only home I’ve ever known. 

I feel so alone, always waiting for someone to save me.

In my last breath, may it be the hands of my fate to resurrect the nothingness of my existence into a void that looms over your city forever and don’t ever let me breathe again, in any form, in any imitation don’t let my soul escape the dirt and disease. 

Let me writhe in the filth I was born in and with, where even the barbarity of my ending refuses to touch me. But they didn’t even bury me.

I let my bones freeze in this unwavering cold, and as I slipped past the grasps of coherency, why did you let me fight this war alone? I’ve been at the end of my will since ages and yet I’ve not felt the softness of this god you told me loves me.

I’m always standing on my own, waiting on my own.

Bees on my skin, yet I felt so frayed. I dreamt of a man who held me without the heat scorching me alight. I saw you in the image of my saviour and you saw me circling around my overdue end. 

There is something so quiet in being alone, you can fantasise but you wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of your wrist tearing the other. The patterns of hate I had for me where you looked the other way when you saw me laying there, unmoving and drained. You can't bear the weight of reality and you leave every time, you leave me alone, all alone, feeling myself in my stomach.

Now you cry for me, now you beg for me, because even in death you can’t deny the breath you longed for was me, even in sanity you can’t deny the rush you needed was me

Was the unpredictability so addicting? Was it so sexy of me to always be in ruins and have more water in my veins than blood to feel something more than this guilt that you chewed on?

I’m running barefoot through spines and shrubs, don’t run after me, it always ends at the cliffs. They warned you not to slip but you slipped the day you saw swaying under daylight.

Chipped cement on the ceiling of your room that I said looked like the moon, do I haunt you in every corner of your house?

All I ever needed was you, all I ever wanted was you but you only needed me when I couldn't hold my own head above my shoulders and my lips were all purple and blue.

Now you can’t even visit my grave cause it doesn't exist. Do you go by the tree where we carved our names every time we kissed? And do you see the rope still swaying and catching the plague of my skin? And do you find the air still infected with the ashy pieces of me? Do you trap me in a bottle just to feel the last of me? Do you breathe in the clog and let yourself die slowly in the pain of me?

Tell me Judas, do you cry for me?

~Imaan