THERE IS NO HELL HOTTER THAN MY ANXIETY

By Roseline Mgbodichinma Anya Okorie

Stress warning: The following contains material relating to mental health struggles and trauma in no particular order, which may be triggering to victims and survivors

Before I sweet-talk
Myself out of this bitterness called life
I complain of this vacuum that is a synonym for my soul to my brethren
                 & they tell me,
Declare warmth                      Decree comfort
Call forth that which be not as though it were
​

​As if you can summon a thing without first knowing its whereabouts,
 
My essence suffers from survivors guilt
Because someone I trust took my love up to the mountain to butcher it
           But a lamb begged to take its place
 
You see,
Every poem I write is penance for all the days I acted a script and called it my life
            On some mornings my blanket is a coffin
& the shower is a deep blue sea washing me into the shores of death
& when I manage to make omelettes   I might melt into spice
         for leaving the Gas cooker on overnight.           
             
        You know,
There is a thin line between fire & ice
         And it is the cloud I look up to when I draw maps on my skin
                       Using moonlight as mirror,
 
        There is no hell hotter than the raging anxiety in my bones
No heaven more enchanting than the coolness in my lungs
When I decide it's time to breathe my last.