I Am a Murderer

2 Min Read


Aye Than May

I am a murderer

An alarming claim, a nonsensical one at that too,

For the only blood on my hands is that of myself.

Yet it is not murder,

It is a correction.


I tug and tear at my skin in a hopeless search

For what used to be within me

Before my eyes were no longer mine

But that of a woman I met once in a grocery store

Eyeing my jeans with disgust and envy.

I gouged them out and gave it to the man

Who told me that the heat was no reason for immodesty,

“Cover your legs, do you not feel ashamed?”


My eyes have passed from person to person

And I am sitting on the balcony accompanying the moon, mosquito bites peppering my skin

Before a scarf is thrust into my chest

And suddenly the moon only bares me and my bare arms

And my thin shirt and my young face

Out in the open like a little lame lamb.


I am now a young man across myself, hidden well in the shadows, chuckling,

“Oh naive little one, do you not know you are only a few eyes away from disgrace?”


Eyes are the mirror to the soul.

Not portal, not path

Because mirrors only reflect what is outside

And when you look into my eyes,

What else do you expect to see

Other than yourself and your ideals, rules and morals

What lies inside is just as good as trapped, dulled

Dead with the blood dried a long time since.


May, against her best wishes, is a Class 10 student from SFX Greenherald Int’l School. 

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