Lapses And Locks

By Mishti Mehta

I stand before the mirror standing at a lanky frame.

I don’t recognise this figure standing in front of me.

The perfect face, and silky locks have disappeared,

And there stands the weak carcass of a tormented person.

No longer can I sprint and jump the way I used to, just months ago.

My voice can no more be loud enough to be heard,

And yet my mind screams deafeningly.

My head is in a whirl and my gut, down in the depths.

My heart throbs with pain, and my body shakes with fatigue,

As I lay crouched in the corner of my mind, exhausted and weak.

Physical exhaustion has taken control of me.

A lacerating pain keeps pulling me down,

It’s too much to take now.

Please, somehow someone end it.

Enough! Please, stop.

A shriek escapes me, and I crumble to the floor,

Gripping my middle tight.

And right before the blackness takes over,

A final thought petrifies me,

“Will this cancer ever go away?”

By Mishti Mehta