The Retinal Circus

Life the eternal death bed, shoots haphazardly through my brain; tunnels, surrounded by tunnels, encased in auras, draining my humanness, recovering the animal that I am. My mouth, a plateau pulsating against my hovering tongue that lunges like a thirsty demonic gargoyle. The taste of white sugar dissolving against my taste buds is hardly satisfying. Myself is all that I have now- all that I hope I can be. My hands, the gypsy fortresses of a dead tribe regurgitate the mess of past centuries and fly away from me, my Arabian nights welcome themselves forth. Ranjha, that hopeless boy who I descend from, frolics looking for his Heer inside of my brain, but she is long dead, lying like a poignant tragedy in my veins.

My dervaish heart pounds incessantly, challenging the absurdity of my mind, whirling and dashing against the humble hills of my breasts that have for some reason stopped existing. I slip away, and illuminate, rush away and latch on to the commonality of my friends who breathe the same air yet seem grounded. My brain, that shuddering engine of motors and drills, roars panicking under the strain of life, demons and angels. Playground innocence manifests through my blaring retina that wheels away as I try to run after it or from it, I can never tell which. I see Allah written perpetually, ingrained into the corners of my brain and latch on to Him like a manic saint, longing for His ethereal presence, in order to make sense of my own disordered self.

A profusion of portals opens that I am too fearful to step into. I am still struggling with my mortal self despite knowing that my portal has opened. Despite knowing that I will never be the same- despite entering the void, and seeing past the reality of my hands, nose and feet and into my brain cells and blood cells that chanted my arrival. I crawl into a weird slumber, where I dream of nothing and nobody and wake to find myself commonly breathing the same air as my friends, drooling contently in the corner of a twelve foot room.