Here I am, slumped in the corner,

blood oozing out of a hole in the side of my head,

while you peer inside.

Your hand tugging at my chin for leverage is annoying,

but I don’t have the heart to push you away.

 

Whatever you see inside makes you smile.

I’m surprised.

I didn’t think there was anything in there except

mud and an endless torrent of slightly salty rain.

 

Before I know it, you’ve widened the hole

(your hands are smeared with blood)

and pulled yourself in.

I can feel you rummaging around in there

with your hosepipe sucking up the damp

and your broomstick sweeping up the dust that’s left.

 

I feel you sneeze.

I can’t hold back a chuckle.

Oh no, I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to jostle you.

I hope you’re okay.

 

The sun’s starting to come out now.

I search for a rainbow, but all it does is blind me;

a light so bright it knocks me out cold.

I know there’s snow falling now – slightly salty just like the rain.

I can’t do anything to stop it.

I know you’re getting buried.

I know you can’t breathe.

I can’t do anything to stop it.

I never should have let you get inside my head.

Oshin Padhye was an undergraduate business student in the past, and is a postgraduate liberal arts student in the present. She hopes to become a copywriter someday so she can have a steady job, write and get paid for it. She loves stories – regardless of whether they’re in the form of poetry, prose, music or telvision shows – and feeds off of them.