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By Suzan Kantanzi

How far can envy travel before desire becomes obsession? In Edge of Psychosis, Suzan Kantanzi enters the disturbing mind of a woman consumed by jealousy, betrayal and an obsessive desire to take her dead friend’s place. What begins as longing gradually descends into complicity, rejection and a chilling promise of revenge.

Next in line.
I’m next in line…

I envied her sly, mischievous smile,
Watching her get all that I craved.
My friend Andy had your hand,
And you had hers.

Next in line, I tell you!
I’m next in line…

Andy rode ponies and flew jets,
Garden of flowers, joy trapped in sun rays.
I watched and brooded on
From the corner of my eye
At the lucky little bugger that Andy was.

Andy had everything.
I wanted it so bad, I tell you.
She sashayed on with a slightly bored demeanour,
Staggered through the life I could only dream of,
Slept in your warm, strong and heavenly arms—

Arms that should be holding me.

Heavens, I loathed her!
Her clock was ticking, though.

I was next in line,
Oblivious to the threat, of course,
Until Sunday morning.

Andy’s body was found blue and dead,
Throat slit, eyes poked and a gash on her head,
Mouth hung wide open in a silent scream,
Face scrunched up in horror of expected death.

You didn’t have to go like that, Andy.
You just didn’t!

The investigators are still tinkering,
But the whispers have been raging.
And before the tear trails had dried,
I started thinking:

Maybe this tragedy wasn’t a terrible thing.

After all, I am next in line.
I can finally step forward.
I’m up next for the spotlight.

Andy slipped and fumbled,
Slept with another to keep you humble.
Ego bruised, y’all had a tumble.

You dragged her pale, stiff self.
I wanted to be next in line,
So I helped you shove the soil in her face,
Cover the trail of your rage.

I traded protection for luxury.

I’m sorry, Andy,
But life is short.

What a fool, I thought to myself!

Andy denied herself happiness.
Adulterer and coward, she was curated by you.

“Widow and misfortune!”
They cried for you.

Her parents worship you, Richard.
Her husband, saviour and murderer.

You, Mr Richard, are a hell-spawn.

But I’m still here in line,
Waiting!

My arms are open, Richard.

Murderer and lover of my friend,
I crawled to your room’s window,
Gave you solace between my legs.

Sleeping in the sheets where she lay.
Making you tea for the cold morning.

Why am I still waiting in line, Richard?

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
How the stars deign to hide my shame,
The shame you subjected me to, Richard.

When you replaced Andy with another—
Another that was not me.

You did not deem the light.
You lit the fire of psychosis!

And still, Richard,
I stand in line, awaiting my turn.

Your arms are still the trophy.

Except this time,
I don’t want them caressing me.

I want them hung on my wall.

Count your little trips and joy.

I’m next in line, Richard.
I am indeed a patient lass.

I hope you now understand this promise
As the threat it truly is.

— Suzan Kantanzi

Author biography

Suzan Kantanzi is a young Ugandan poet who is completely enraptured by words and the art of poetry.

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