make me wish i could write
in the way i hardly understand
what my words mean at all

like those poets who manage to place
every word, every detail of it
in the most perfect cadence

speaking in a language of only those few
who feel or have been through the same thing could understand
with their deeper and wittier sense
at catching things in the right way

feelings successfully delivered across
like it's the first thing you'll read
in the envelope

and though i still lack the capability of doing so
i'd still stretch any words i have in me
to attempt creating something—
anything less than what the heart feels

you
make me try to utter things
that i’d rather leave unsaid
if it’s about
  anyone but

Who love the LORD they fear,
Enter and worship here.  
Who love or know Him not,
Enter, but fear a lot.

and in our battle of words,
yours succeeded to wade its meaning straight across
and with a solid one at most,
i have once again been rendered lost

my feelings are the splattered inks
bold, italics
threatening to spill
weighing on every meaning
words could carry
scrambled up, juggled
those who’ve yet to feel
shall not speak
and pray tell, words
do you realize what you amount to?
what’s behind was for a reason, a person
clear as day, solid reverie
what lies beneath shan’t remain between the lines
and if it reaches you, we’re alike

my feelings are a mountain
i have yet to tackle
detached of my body
way ahead of me
in a sense it may have manifested its way of life
now it is a head, with a heartbeat
i’ll let it grow a hand of its own
perhaps two, even
limb after another
& who am i but a shell?

The past two days were recklessly engorged with alcohol.
Intoxication has become habitual. Each weekend, drowning one's self in an illusion of joy and folly; The jester entertaining not Kings nor Queens, but the ****, the weak, to deceive the empty crowd in my mind that I matter to someone. But matter is fleeting and we, myself and the abyss, understand the plight of today; waking up to nothing-- the empty abyss for which I am well acquainted with. Simply put, I am revisiting my old home from a not so distant past. The only difference between then and now is the relentless bottoms of empty glasses and a false sense of security and composure.

When fear flutters me I close my heart's shutter for preventing its entry inside me.

© SPRIHA KANT