Death of a Nihilist [poetry]

07. cenote

nobody told me, i just knew:

you hung yourself in june,

one forgettable noon,

slipped on the noose as you watched

the loons crooned over the dunes,

where children were tugging at colourful balloons,

the telly was running a replay of your favourite old cartoon.

i waited for the phone to ring all afternoon,

waited for the familiar tune.

till the sky turned into an ugly shade of maroon.

and the city's distant blue

outgrew the shadow of your lined-up shoes,

bleeding into the subdued hues of your due.

my neck hurt, from the phantom noose.

i wanted to see your phone number, caller id

light up the screen just one more time.

we could have swap bodies, you knew.

you could have swap your body with mine

seconds before you die.

a revenge.

a debt paid clean.

i'd have cut the noose loose.

falling out of the sky wouldn't be too terrible

if i were the one who must abide by.

afterall, it was i who learnt how to weaponize

the thoughts held close to my breasts, and the sensations pulsating in my chest

to make you physically retch

every time you tried to enter my head.

i wanted to hear a voice, even if it was not yours,

inform me of your death,

your feelings:

how you decided to die;

how you die, hurting in places you never knew about.

how you die from replacing me, being shoved

into a too small container full of spikes and tumbled 'round in unending cycles

inside this wheel of torture i created specifically for you.

i wanted to graze my fingers picking up the last

shattered pieces of you.

like how we used to swap bodies, back we were small

—back when our lives only differ at the syllables of

our names;

—back when ma and pa always mistook me and you,

though we'd go along with it,

giggling because it was another little secret

we shared, amongst many other things in this tiny

mirror world.

like how we used to swap bodies, identities.

how you used to be me, and i used to be you.

i waited and i waited

for several blue moons.

for somebody, anybody,

or perhaps, for you, to call

and tell me more about the broken you.

⸻

cenote: a deep natural well or sinkhole formed by the collapse of surface limestone that exposes groundwater underneath

prompt: body swap