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  • meru_mukh 2w

    Making no sense is a side effect of late nights, don't mind.

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    rhyme rhyme; it's time, prime

    The wall is staring at me, it's quarter
    past three. Trojan verses zigzagging
    down my putrid veins, going drip, drip;
    splash, splash. The air reeks of some
    half bled, crimson lies. Oh, it's heavy,
    I say. Heavier than what my heart
    weighed last. Black skies and black
    souls surround, both on the verge of
    a picturesque breakdown.

    In a far-flung land, a girl whimpers with
    a half empty glass of yellow malt, while
    one old, dirty fellow hangs from the
    ceiling with stains of a hundred shortfalls
    gracing a twisted neck and an even
    more twisted life. Nights now feel like a
    shallow bowl, with the clatter of a fork
    breaking the silence. Screaming death.
    Cut wrist, twitching nerves. It's all a sign.
    Too late, they deciphered. Too late, now.

    Storms wrecked this part of town, they
    say. But then, how come I still drown in
    a barren land? The moist soil cemented
    with grief and a few placards of "work
    in progress" couldn't dry the tears off
    the drowsy eyes that I once schleped.
    Empty sockets, now, scare them off;
    and here I tear my eyelashes, one by one,
    reciting the aftermath that my eyelids
    could've shuttered off long before I saw
    it all, crystal clear.

    Well, ladies and gentlemen. The show
    ends here tonight, for abrupt is what I
    offer. Wish you a good, good night.

    ©Merusri Mukherjee

  • meru_mukh 3w

    Idk what I wrote, why I wrote.

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    Under Destruction

    Even with a trifled heart, a bloodied wrist
    and 10 incessant vodka shots later, you
    still feel the same. Wrecked, rotten, dead.
    Despite breathing in smoke rings on a
    wet May night, you only choke on a swig
    of plastic "it's okay"s that you've been
    puking, on loop, since yesteryear. Your
    tobacco stained middle finger does a
    tiny tremor as you recall the shrieks of
    hollow laughter that filled the room the
    last time you called for your friends, only
    to get your aching heart stabbed one last
    time.

    The darkest of alleys show you polar
    lights as you take a trip down the rabbit
    hole, every single time a wave of trust
    washes up your door with two promising
    brown eyes, a hooked nose and chapped
    lips. Should you take a chance? Should
    you give them one? Flashes of severed
    limbs, broken bones and a scarred soul
    grace your blurred vision. You no longer
    dare to turn the doorknob and rather
    collapse in a heap of regrets. For a past,
    that you can't undo or overlook, only
    leaves you with skyrocketing bouts of
    paranoia.

    Dawn somersaults on the edge of your
    eyelids and a new day arrives, to teach
    you sanity, while tightrope-walking on a
    trippy path of stinking solitude. You can't
    stumble, you can't fall, unless you want
    a hushed funeral with few black dresses
    and unknown faces hovering over the
    corpse of a life that never lived.

    ©Merusri Mukherjee

  • meru_mukh 4w

    I feel sick to the core of my being. My head is spinning. I want to puke, the life out of me. I've never really bothered talking about how I feel, maybe because I was too sure that noone will ever bother caring. The night is still so naive, pulling me out of a deep well of miseries I have no clue how I fell into, or maybe jumped. The pitch black seems to engulf me in a warzone. It's a bloodshed. Oh, it's a bloodshed! I'm drenched now. I reek of all the emotions that I kill every twenty fourth hour, with a desire to start afresh. With no feelings and no pain. Nothing. Just nothing. Even this nothing bleeds. Blue, yellow, green, but all pale. All goddamn pale. It's sucking me. I can't hold on anymore, I can't. Please, don't save me. It's too late now. For it never began with you by my side, let it end with me alone, too. Let me go. You never reached out for me. It was always an abyss. Now let me run into it. This time, I want to. Please, let me go. For forever isn't something you believe in and in it, is where I lie. I lie, everytime. I'm blabbering now. Let me go.

  • meru_mukh 6w

    Get off your disguise. Although, I'm sure it's prettier than your reality.

    #sorry_notsorry

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    I'm sorry if you think you're not worth my time.
    But, trust me, I'm no exception.

    ©Merusri Mukherjee

  • meru_mukh 6w

    Temp.

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    Have you ever watched a butterfly get its wing broken by the blade of a fan? A few moments of anticipated pain from your side, a few moments of innocent fluttering from the butterfly's and boom! It hits. One strike and you hear a shriek. From within you. There's a flashback. Of every time you've been this close to a heartbreak and how you've still reached out for it. You knew it would hurt, you knew it would bring out the worst in you, yet that's the best thing that you felt you could do at the moment.

    You know how easy it is to let in? Open the door, greet and step aside. They'll come rushing at you. They'll weep at your miseries, cry with you and then leave. All of a sudden. Oh! You forgot to close the door! Or did they forget how to stay? By you, for you? No no, it can't be them. It's never been them. It has always been you. Who asked you to stand by them when they were running away from their problems? Who asked you to pick them up when they were falling at their own risk? Who asked you to smile with them when they were living the greatest joys of their life? None did. You went along with them, it was your damn choice. Now suffer. Learn. I know you won't, but atleast think of it. Think of it time and again. Think what change you can bring to your life by caring a little less for others and a lot more for yourself. I want you to think of it. When you've decided, let the world know. That you were stupid enough to choose others over your fragile heart, yet again. Cause, I can bet, you will never learn. Even I didn't.

    ©Merusri Mukherjee

  • meru_mukh 6w

    This may not make sense since I tried writing after long. Nevermind. Stay safe.

    Edit : Thank you @writersnetwork and @mirakee .

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    Many a Vir(us)

    Sitting on the verandah bench, I search
    for a little chaos, against the backdrop of
    a silence, too strange, for a world at war
    with peace. The hot tea cup sits beside
    me, untouched, while I struggle to gulp
    down the screams that wish to spill the
    stories I regret having lived. Few muffled
    voices reach my ears and I instinctively
    'cover my mouth', in an attempt to stop
    mine, from infecting the air with tragedy,
    while Nature sings renaissance in her
    own happy pace.

    I get up and walk inside. The pale green
    walls seem to suck me in a monotony I
    fail to resist. Longing to step out, I try to
    'tie a mask', but give up when I realize
    how much easier it is, to keep one up,
    without the knots. As a wave of dubiety
    hits mankind with the rising deaths and
    the crashing hopes, the oceans turn a
    purer shade of blue. With deer on road
    and men locked up, Nature, at last,
    masters the game, we taught her how
    to play.

    'Wash your hands', they hum. I wonder if
    they do the same, everytime they kill a
    dream within a child and a child within
    a womb. Born in an era of isolation,
    quarantines don't scare me more than
    people using candles to reignite the
    flame of unity. I hope this flame doesn't
    burn down a race whose only mantra to
    treat each other is : "Pull. Break. Push.
    Regret. Repeat." Honking cars veer into
    ringing bells, and while the blind lane of
    faith ends right before the closed shrines,
    the athiests have the last laugh.

    "It's a pandemic!", we cry out. The rustling
    leaves seem to snicker. Trapped in the
    conflicts of our own mind, we panic as
    the setting sun brings in a night, but no
    sleep. We vow to find a cure the very
    next morning. But can we?
    For it's, still, the vir(us).

    ©Merusri Mukherjee

  • meru_mukh 12w

    Nothing much. Just happy I could write.
    ********
    I've seen people smile a genuine smile. There's this glow in their face, a strange softness in their eyes and an easy stretch in the lips. When the wind plays with their hair strands, they don't even bother to tuck them behind their ears and instead throw back their heads in an innocent attempt to let all the joy sink in. It screams of true happiness. I wonder how it feels like. Don't the cheeks ache, the wider the smile is? Is it a happy ache? So, pain can be of a happy kind too then? When will pain be this kind to me, this warm?

    One day. Someday.

    Walking on streets, I look around at people. Some try to hold their umbrellas upright, while some, their heads. I'm neither of them, so I look down. The roads are a dirty grey, but not dirtier than the footsteps imprinted on it. Or rather the people that stomped off it. The sun rays pour on me like a bucket of light, and I squint my eyes.
    Is it because I'm too accustomed to the dark now? Will this light wash off me the stains of last summer, the summer I got to know that people are darker than the lies they say?

    One day. Someday.

    The leaves adorn a shade of green I'd never known of. I guess they chose yellow but life turned out to be too blue. Blue-r than the
    morning sky, calling out to wake your body that lost its soul some nights back. Blue-r than the
    ocean at night, bidding goodbye to the waves that rocked your life. Blue-r than your eyes that hide your stories which you don't intend to write. I want to know your story. But wait, are you someone else's? Will all our stories end someday along with the people that once lived in them? Will we ever know how to live at peace, in a world with so many empty hearts and masked faces?

    We will.
    One day. Someday.

    ©Merusri Mukherjee

    Thank you @writersnetwork . For always reading my words, however weird they are. I can never thank you enough tho. :)

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  • meru_mukh 13w

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  • meru_mukh 14w

    Thank you @writersnetwork and @mirakee . Honoured.

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    Android Attack

    You stare at the figure below the 'good
    times' album in your phone's gallery. It
    reads 253, but you don't relate even one
    to the name. All you do is draw your tired
    fingers over the crack your phone screen
    survived and regret the ones that your
    relations, with those in the pictures,
    couldn't. You wonder why you clicked
    such moments, at all, and why your
    vibes with them didn't, for long.

    You open the message box to reply "I'm
    fine." to people who don't really care and
    miss the "Are you sure?"s that followed,
    from the ones that once did. You end up
    scrolling through old conversations and
    find yourself blaming the backspace key
    for erasing emotions, from your texts
    and people, from your life. Your call log
    stays just as empty as you always feel,
    while the busy callertune gives your
    silly heart another reason to break.

    You plug in your headphones, start your
    playlist and close your eyes. The lyrics
    give you flashbacks of the faces that
    once recommended the songs, and the
    masks that fell from each of them. "Was
    I a fool or was I made one?", you ask the
    search engine. It shows, "No result(s)
    found" and you smile. Either technology
    isn't advanced or maybe it, too, is playing
    safe with you, nowadays.

    You keep looking between the lifeless,
    mechanical, inhuman people around and
    the phones that they are glued to, and
    fail to decide who the actual android is.
    A notification pops up on your screen.
    "Hey, feeling better?", it asks.
    You wish you were.
    You wish all were.

    ©Merusri Mukherjee