• fallen_42 5w


    I hear the sounds of ghungroo on a beetle's feet
    It doesn't make sense
    And neither the thoughts in my head
    I see ghosts walking along the roof of my home
    Wanting to jump off the edge
    But is it still called killing yourself
    When you know you won't die
    I take prayers in my hands
    And mold them into a god I am comfortable worshipping
    A god who is willing enough to listen
    A god who doesn't care about the grammatical errors in the wishes i say
    I try and try
    To speak like it actually matters
    But everytime
    I end up reminding myself
    That earth doesn't stop revolving even when the sun is consumed by the shadows of a dim moon
    And maybe that is the only way one knows of
    To keep going until it stops making sense
    The eclipse
    The musical beat of a tiny feet
    The ghosts
    And this urge to tell myself that I am almost normal
    For you know nothing about normalcy
    If you don't feel like you are controlling yourself every single second from losing your mind
    So here is how it goes
    A ghostly beetle with ghungroo in its feet
    Jumps off the roof of my home
    And the sound it makes
    Convinces me that an eclipse will occur and end
    Like it doesn't matter
    Like I dont matter
    Like you don't matter
    Like world doesn't care about who wins or loses
    As long as the it keeps being the whistle-blower
    Hush! A relay race is about to start
    And you might need to let go of the memories
    Without any trigger warnings
    Like I did
    In this poem
    Without revealing that on the days i wanted to kill the world
    I prayed even louder than before
    And the god whispered,"wait for your turn"