You Were Beautiful In Your Undoing

By Lakshana Gopinath

I have been eroding graciously,

the manner in which dust learns to inhale without lungs.

My shadow flinches a fraction too slow,

as if not willing to recognize what remains.

Small crescent moons where the truth gnawed through.

Each word I swallow ferments in the throat,

making language rot,

making love evidence of life lived.

I sewed myself with darkness

since light wouldn't linger.

Even sorrow grew weary of me

gathered its things,

left fingerprints on the doorknob

and a note that read, "You were beautiful in your undoing."

Sometimes I still hear the echo of my pulse

inquiring for its owner.

Sometimes I touch the walls just to feel

if the world still hardens around me.

What a tragedy

to haunt a living body,

to be both ghost and grave,

to rot so beautifully

nobody dares say it's dying.

By Lakshana Gopinath