Domestic Coma - “A reeling, dark sleeping character”

I am trapped in the darkness of my consciousness. The walls are creeping on to me like a wave of boiling lava, but I don’t move. I let it all come down until it dissolves the every pore of my skin and a heap of debris is left with a slight hope of survival.

Before the 'dungeon darkness' hits, I am trying to give my beloved home one last look; the chique damask wallpaper I carefully handpicked during my long quest for interior perfection is haunting me as I slowly drift away into nothingness. The beautifully laid out Persian rug and the Moroccan lanterns majestically hanging from the ceiling, unwillingly make me look small and insignificant as I go by like a blow of dust.

What am I? A mere being whose oxygen to breathe is purely more of a burden than a necessity? My perfectly painted finger nails may hold a diamond set or two, but these impeccable looking hands have seen days of labor, that of trembling and sweating when life’s struggles crossed their path. My nails remained ‘undone’, until the very notion of manicure stroke as exciting up till now.

The unbearing pain is opening doors to my very naked soul, whose capture is released of all fears, tearing its skin apart, digging deep down into the reality of me. Maybe it’s trying to grasp some truth behind this cut-throat façade?

I am unveiling myself to myself for the very first time. The dying fear of losing will not block me as I am in perfect harmony with my robotic actions;

From early awakenings in the morning to the washing of the dishes; throwing the every day waste is purposeful and in compliance of what I feel... empty.

Where’s life? I ask.

I am Home.