• mahnoor_ 36w

    You see,
    sometimes
    the music that's played
    again & again
    just becomes noise.
    It's hard for a song
    to remain a song.
    Sometimes
    love letters
    just become mere
    random words.
    It's hard for a promise
    to remain a promise.
    Sometimes
    apologies break
    people more than
    they mend them.
    It's easy for a wound
    to remain a wound.
    (Forever)
    I am strangely
    obsessed with
    dead roses now.
    I wish to carry
    sunflowers in
    my pockets.
    But they
    suffocate & die.
    Dandelions in my
    careless hands
    got crushed.
    No wish survives.
    I am a graveyard.
    A graveyard
    of my own dreams.
    Its broken pieces
    buried themselves
    and I bleed
    wherever I step.
    A deep deep sigh.
    The older I grow
    the more I feel
    like a lost kid.
    I can't explain people
    that brokeness runs
    in my family.
    Art is hereditary
    and so is coldness.
    You tell me your
    mother taught you
    numbers by making
    you count the stars.
    Whenever I tell you
    that you are lucky to
    have a loving family
    I'm actually reminding
    myself how unlucky I am.
    I don't want to use
    'love' & 'family' in the
    same sentence.
    I live in a distant past.
    Flailing for answers
    only to fetch more
    questions.
    A wound
    never healed
    smarts again.
    You don't notice as
    my heart rips apart.
    Your sadness has
    got everything to do
    with me.
    But mine got nothing
    to do with you.
    You don't like me
    when I'm sad.
    So I smile, wondering
    if you like me at all.
    Nobody understands me
    which is to say
    nobody understands
    my sadness.
    You will never
    know what it's like
    to be kind enough to
    listen to everyone
    but never being
    brave enough to speak.
    I find things
    that might make
    me numb.
    But they don't
    last for long.
    Do they ever?
    Does anything ever?
    Sadness finds me.
    In movie scenes
    that are not
    supposed to be sad.
    In lyrics of a
    painless song.
    In the walls
    of my perfect "house".
    In the silence
    of my "perfect" family.
    It finds me.
    It's inside me.
    I am dragging
    a meaningless
    empty existence.
    I am crying
    while listening
    to my favorite songs.
    I am holding
    my world together
    with poorly written
    sentences I called poetry.
    But for how long?
    How long?
    //I can't do this anymore//
    ~mahnoor

    @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @ni89gale @branthan @aaditya

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