tingesofhysteria

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  • tingesofhysteria 2d

    If forgetting you were an art , I'd be the worst artist history has ever seen .

  • tingesofhysteria 4d

    My heart is a stone emblazoned with your smile , your touch , your eyes , your hair that looked like a forest when the winds wafted through it , and with your voice

  • tingesofhysteria 2w

    I own nothing but a heart coiled by a black-and-white thread of silence left by you

  • tingesofhysteria 2w

    Christmas lights splatter the city like the stars upon which I wished for you times and again

    Faces glisten and gleam with smiles, a euphonious euphoria infect the environment like a disease I wish I too had tonight
    And ,
    There's me , locked in my room lamenting the loss of a rose I never had , that is you .

    You're the shelter I never had but, darling, I can't sleep without you lending me shade the way you do when I'm hypnotized.

    Love ,
    It seems an eternal forever since I texted you the last time though it was last night when my body felt heavy like a wrecking ball wrecking itself and I needed you to drain me of that weight.
    Why aren't you here , dear? We could have walked the streets stained with patches of Christmas lights .
    We could have become the Christmas lights and glistened .

    Christmas lights splatter the city like stars that still bear imprints of my unheard wishes .
    Faces gleam and glisten with smiles and a certain tint of something punctuates the air and it's certainly not blue ,
    unlike my hue
    And then there's me , writing in my diary , capturing you in my poems ;
    There's me writing letters I'll never send u but I'll hold them like treasure.

    Merry Christmas , love

    ---- love letter in Christmas.


    #love#poetrycommunity #writerscommunity#poetsofmerakee#writersofmerakee

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    ©tingesofhysteria

  • tingesofhysteria 4w

    We're nobody but guardians to a fragile heart that loves and breaks and dares to love again

  • tingesofhysteria 4w

    The monotonous montage of scenic tears on the floor paints an act ...
    And a mundane muse sits a yard ahead .
    My love's melancholy is mingled with tears I have Stolen from every unrequited love there is .
    Everyone sees this romantic epitome calling for Juliet but tears don't sting their eyes
    Or their lives that dash away like an arrow shot in the heart ,
    And , excuse me , that heart belongs to me -
    I feel that trickle of blood stinging my eyes .

    My tears have painstakingly written poems on this desk and no eraser ever will bring about their erasure ,
    And like lullabies , they will be recited amongst all the unrequited lovers .
    Everyone sees my poems but poems don't sting their eyes .

    This wall shall always bear the weight of my mangled head stuffed with visions of you dancing beside me ,
    smoking beside me ,
    laughing beside me ,
    kissing before my eyes ....... this smoke is tinged with tragedy .

    In an a aura silence , like a lover's unread letter , I stood on the cliff painting our history like scenic landscapes on the skies as the sun slips down the horizon ........
    And one last time , I memorize you ...


    #poetry #love #lovetags #poetsofmerakee#poemsofmerakee#poetrycommunity#writerscommunity #writersofmerakee

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    ©tingesofhysteria

  • tingesofhysteria 5w

    If painting you inside my head were an art , I'd probably be the greatest artist history has ever seen

  • tingesofhysteria 6w

    Effacing you

    Time is changing ,
    Wounds are mending

    You're still in my head like a poisonous potion that tastes like Kundalini's Amrit .
    You're still stowed on my eyelids like a poem, perched on my eyelashes, propped in my tears , etched in my heartbeats , suffused in the modulation of my voice ,
    But unlike before I don't text you anymore
    I don't bleed tears anymore
    Instead , I blot these pages with thoughts of you

    I don't howl your name into the depths of the air anymore ;
    Instead, I howl it into my diary , into my poetry

    and I'm trying to efface my poetry .
    ©tingesofhysteria

  • tingesofhysteria 6w

    My dialects have changed now - it's your images that infect my phone like a virus I want
    And I still have you underlying in every wish of mine and there's still an innate craze born inside me for your voice every time I hear it ;
    I still open my Instagram in search of notifications that never come , and every time I open my WhatsApp , there's a quest of letters from you

    I sit under the bulb in my room thinking about you ,
    Photographing you in my journal in my childlike handwriting that has adult-like pangs from the wounds you gave me etched in its skin like a tattoo ,
    Writing sometimes you too might photograph me as that kid so cinematically foolish in your love ,
    As a kid who bore your name in every heartbeat of his like a mystery .

    I still sit in my chair by the window , looking at your photo trying to dig you out like minors dig out diamonds ,
    As the sun trawls down the buildings ,
    Writing prayers in the air that sometimes you too come across my photo and
    reminisce on how we talked and laughed and danced and ate amidst monotonous economics lessons ;
    And sometimes when you come across Taylor Switft on the TV ,
    Please think of me and think of my favourite song and think of how I used to hum it to you in the secrecy of the last bench ;
    Sometimes when you remember your school days after a decade,
    Please remember how my love for you had become a headline in every magazine and how we were scandalized ,
    Please remember how I spilled water on your shirt cuz I was I just too nervous being too close to your lips --
    As of me ,
    These memories will live in my eyes, my tears , my pen , in the pristine pages of my diary , in the midnights when my mind shall converse in songs , in the daylight when the vultures will scrounge over me screaming your name :
    You'll dwell in my bottle that you once drank water from ,
    You'll be the sole resident of the cold bleak edges of your touch on me .

    You'll dwell in my changing dialect, that is my memories of you smoking beside me like Lucifer , laughing beside me like a villain that looked so much like my hero in my movie .

    My dialect is changing now into a scribble of thoughts beyond your comprehension --
    I like to call it my poetry , the blood my bleeding heart.

    * My dialect is changing into poetry*

    #poetry#poems#poetsofmirakee#lovepoetry#mypoetry#poetrycommunity#writerscommunity#writersofmirakee#quotesofmirakee

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    ©tingesofhysteria

  • tingesofhysteria 6w

    You always need an arm to cling on to no matter what you undergo
    , no matter how easy the storm is to get past .
    But you don't realize this unless you're lying face up like a corpse tired of being dead and cold icicles are falling on you like rain
    You see, it's all an intricate process but you don't comprehend these little intricacies when all you have to do is tell someone how easy it is to find solace in whatever they own ,
    When all you have to do is preach self-love but self-love is an art and to some it's still an unattainable gem but you don't get how hard it is to hate us and retrieve every single shard of love of our own body specked with flaws after the war ;
    You don't know what it's like to seek safety in strangers and losing it time and again .

    There's a filthy haze of hatred that jets from you every time you can't do it the way you wanted ,
    a haze that bears your name like ancient engravings

    It's easy enough to ask anyone to embrace their inner selves the way the mirrors project them ,
    but it's utterly not the case when you try to inhale but end up swallowing this haze ,
    when all you hear is the breaking of all your whims that brim you like poison

    You might be wondering what I have seen to profess these inconsequential lessons , but trust me , I have seen everything :
    I have seen love fly like doves , worn it like a tiara over my head , married it like a husband , nurtured it like an ugly baby in my family's hereditary swaddling that my mother used to enfold me in ;
    I have watched hate in cracked mirrors and tattered pictures of me ,
    I have been bathed in it an eternity .

    I was always too poor to afford a guide , but you always had one - you always had safe hands to place your heart in so you never knew what it's like hold on to an arm and yearn one .
    You were born on a rich luscious bed of roses but I never had roses ;
    Everytime I planted them , they died on stormy nights so it's lads like me who know this insatiable craving .

    You always need an arm to cling on to amongst hasty acquaintances ,
    Amidst nasty nightmares that envelope you like a strikingly dark curtain but just can't diagnose the depths of a nightmare unless you're haunted by one yourself in the broad daylight, in front of everyone you know but there's no one to reach out to your screams .

    * You always need an arm to cling on to *
    #poetry#love#lovepoetry#poemsofmirakee#poetsofmirakee#poetrycommunity#writersofmirakee#writerscommunity

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    ©tingesofhysteria