He used to care for my wounds like each one was too fragile to touch.
Now he just looks at each scar in disgust.
His eyes once soft for my pain, have come to grow cold.
It’s as if to him, my suffering has grown old.
He used to lay with me each morning and trace his fingers on my skin.
Now patience has become sin.
He would always use his words to ease my darkened thoughts.
But now when I’m lost, he just shuts himself off.
My anxiety and depression used to be met with understanding and love.
But after 8 years, I guess he’s done all that he could of...
The day he asked for my hand was one of the happiest days of my life.
Now each day is met with strife.
Each thing I use to say to him would be listened to with care.
Now it’s like I’m not even there.
We used to communicate without a problem or fight.
But now every word is said with a bite.
Each cut that I made on my skin would lead to an empathetic kiss.
Now each one adds distance.
His heart was so pure but now it’s so hard to access.
Where did my love go that I used to know best?
And will it be like this for the rest?

Her canvas was drowning with blood;
As her paintbrush slices open her skin.
Paying the price for showing the world
her beautiful art from within.

She strokes her paintbrush in colours
Reflecting ripples of repetitive repulsion.
Her canvas covered with colours and
Succession of the glitters of her imagination.

She’s trying to escape, don’t you see
the struggle riddling her eyes?
She always hated her life but
you never realized what’s behind her lies.

Her mind was the most beautiful explosion
of vivacities through collision of galaxies.
The colours of her canvas masking her
tears from the ever growing mental atrocities.

This is the price she pays to show the world
The beauty of her mind.
For how can you write your beautiful poetry without the
Dark void of emptiness you feel inside.