Blackhole

Hi,

 I'm trying not to write poems or sad stuff.

 It was all jokes when you first tried it. Just another silly habit everyone indulged in, but you were bored so why not try something new. How disappointing it was on first try. Overrated. Crap. 

They said it felt like heaven. Some losers said it was their addiction, but you weren’t hitting it. 

So you tried it once more, and it definitely got better. Just not on that level you believed it led to. And here, you gave it up. For a couple of years. Scoffing at the helpless addicts. 

Could never be me, you pitched confidently.
Once a while, you tried it out. No addiction, right in their faces. 

The universe must’ve been playing a joke on you. Today, you lay here with tears burning your cheeks. You’ve hit a high thrice today and you just can’t stop. You badly want to, but you know when that voice gets stronger than your willpower, you would give in once more. 

Prayers won’t suffice anymore than they once did, you find yourself edging towards that high and lift off into release. You hide behind closed doors, lights turned off. You can’t talk about it, but they know.

It’s been four years since they all found out about it. Now, you don’t even leave the premises. Not since you failed to bag that degree. Just because you didn’t stop when you could. Curiosity?

 There’s that look of disgust that creases your fathers’ eyes when he sets them upon you. Your mother prays for you at every mass and you can feel your siblings avoid you, and your overprotected privacy. 

Here you are, you know this wouldn’t be the last time either. This is the dark depth of murk you were told is the blackhole. The one you were dared into.

This is it. Hell, softly wrapped in the bite of heavenly taste. The ninth cloud. The seventh heaven. Curiosity killed the cat, now it’s going to kill you too.



'Siyah.