This is not me.
If you think that you will get to know me
by reading the words I have written,
you are wrong.
This is not me.
If you think my eyes will be full of fire if I wipe my tears,
You are wrong. They will never stop.
This is not me.
If you think that: Oh! He has poetry now, so he will finally let me go and move on with his life,
You are wrong.
This is not me.
This is all yours.
Every word I have written is for you.
This is not me, this is You.

©misterfantasist

Hearing her
voice, I realised
it was the last time 
          I was going to 
          hear it. My ears
          heard the screams
          of her rage being
          converted into
          sound and I felt 
          like I will go deaf. 
          Instead I went 
          numb, looked
back at the past
and her screams 
slowly faded.

We
meet
daily
through
poetry
now.

What you have desired most, will eventually destroy you most...

The day he was brought back home
the therapist said that he is now ready
to face the world again.
Was he that mad?
His girlfriend has never came since the day he was taken away
She was scared and literally hurt by him
His parents has hidden all the knives and all the sharp things
Was he that mad?
But the therapist said that  he is fine now
that he has drawn a line now
between pain and pleasure.
He is safe now, so we all are.

Come close to me
no!
stab me from the front this time
and look into my eyes
while you do that.

The urge to call
and ask them why
and ask for forgiveness
and ask for an apology
and begging
and abusing
and finally cutting the call
and switching it off
and deleting their number
from your cell
and eventually from
memory.