• meghana27 10w

    As much as I crave to be remembered, I’d rather wake up forgotten the next morning.

    Read More

    A M B E D O

    Your mind is a wreckage
    (So is mine, love)
    You’ve seen the earthquakes
    Silenced by the blue waters
    Nothing is seen or heard
    Except for the rise in crashing waves
    Smoothing the rough edged boulders
    Just like that, smoke doesn’t make
    its way out from the top of your head
    The world is oblivious to the
    tangerine flames consuming you
    The grey ashes stain your vision
    Leaving you to stagger into a
    downward spiral of self-loathing
    All you do is bask in lost hope
    Soaking your skin within it

    The messy strings in the mind
    Get tangled into a web
    More complex than any maze
    Like a snare trapping
    a brat of a creature
    You flutter your wings,
    trying to get out
    They break along with you
    Rendering you helpless
    With nothing but a dark silhouette
    To make your heart pound relentlessly
    For, he wears a new mask each day
    One day, he comes with a wicked smile
    And stabs you with a syringe
    Making you numb all over
    The next day,
    he comes bearing an envelope
    Full of fake smiles and unwanted clemency
    to see your greedy eyes
    pounce to grab them
    Just so he could tear it into shatters
    and break you all over again

    And you are left to wonder
    When you had become so weak
    You wonder if you had ever been strong
    When you had placed your
    heart out in the open yard
    With such morbidity
    Out for the crisp blues
    and gusty teeth-chattering breezes
    or for anybody to break
    At any uncanny hour,
    Your eyes are wide open
    (They say eyes are windows to the soul. But I see nothing except a black wallpaper within your red-rimmed eyes)
    Your heart, it’s right on the sleeve
    Dancing in the dim mauve light
    For the whole world to see
    (You might want to drag him in and close your doors before anxiety entwines it’s fingers and takes him out again)

    You want to smile
    (Are you sure if your
    demons would fancy that?)
    You want to be loved
    (Are you sure if your depression
    would ever paint you in love’s bubble?)
    You want to be found
    (Are you sure if any rocky path would lead to you instead of the doom of any passerby?)
    You don’t want to be a sojourn,
    not always be lost in the graveyard
    Of lost and abandoned poems
    Rusting and rotting
    (But where do the storms belong, love? With the debacles, no? Are you sure you’d do fine without the shackles confining you?)
    You want to be preserved
    Like pressed flowers betwixt books
    Like novellas whispering sweet nothings
    silencing people’s demons
    (Might be better if you wish for it when you’ve mastered the art of silencing your own roaring demons)
    You want to be precious,
    something loved
    For all the times to come
    (How could you ever be precious or loved when all you do is wash the sandcastles of hope down?)

    And love, we all want something
    (Something better than what we have already buried)
    It’s not like we all are bound to get it