No fancy cars or restaurants can lead to the gates of my heart.
But a simple honest gesture in the form of words can make my soul dance with joy and wonderment.
So tell me.. am I worth the effort?
No grand proposal or a luxurious dinner date can make me love you.
But a night spent gazing at the stars with nothing but silence surrounding us can make me fall for you.
Will you lay down in silence and think about those celestial bodies?
I don't ask for much you see... I just want your company. Don't mistake me for a low maintenance person. Because I'm not. But I'm not a high maintenance either. I'll demand your attention. I'll crave for your affection.
You may shower me with those exquisite presents but don't.. not even for a second think that they'll have any affect on my feelings towards you.
I'm a woman of my free will. Neither your wealth nor your expensive price tagged gifts can make me fall in love with you. Give me your love. Devote your time. I'll return it with an abundant love and grant you with the opportunity to be the love of your life.

Sometimes the demon doesn't lurk underneath the bed.
Sometimes the demon doesn't live in your head.
Sometimes the demon takes a human form,
He lives inside your house
And makes you believe,
In things that can **** your dreams,
He feeds you nightmares which are sickly sweet.
He the sort of devil no one talks about,
He gifts you a sword to fight
And then chops off your arms,
He tells you run and hide in fear.
Takes away everything that you hold dear.
He's a demon who plays with your mind,
He learns your secrets and destroys your pride.
He's a narcissist with a heart that pumps black blood.
Pushes you around and then pulls you into the mud
He's a human who lacks humanity
And always treats you like a dummy.

Do you remember how he once taught you to fly and then clipped off your wings?
Broke your favorite toy because it could sing?
Do you remember how you once failed?
And how he made you cry, Locked you in the room with no light?

Yes, there are demons that live in your heart and mind. There demons that keep you awake all night. But don't be so naive; there are demons inside your house waiting for you to fall so that they can pounce.

If you were to die tomorrow.
I swear to give you half my life.
So, if you were to die again.
Your story will end after mine.

She had learned to spread her wings all by herself.
She was born from the ashes of her broken soul.
She was all alone, left out to fend off on her own.
But she survived, because the fire inside, burned brighter than the fire outside.

Don't overlook my complexity.
Chaos is what makes me unique.
In this disguise of a beauty.
I hide a maniac within me.

Try not to steal my heart.
For its not up for sale.
Try not to free my soul.
Before its too late.

You'll run in circles of mayhem.
If you figure out who I am.
I'm not someone you're likely to meet.
Because I'm just a spectre in your dreams.

I'm the indecipherable sphinx.
That has no clues or hints.
Something that is physically there
But doesn't really exist.

Once you meet me..
You won't be able to forget.
For I am that mysterious stranger,
Whom you can never get out of your head.

Who would've thought that love can bind you
and tear you down all at the same time.

The soul of a writer is as tormented as the clash of tides in the sea.
There is an ongoing battle between what is right and what is wrong.
The writer's mind experiences an unexplainable turmoil of raging emotions.
There is no escape from the cages that surround the heart except for writing... writing till the words bleed with truth.
Till the colour of the ink becomes the colour of their soul.

And the clouds echoed his name
As they came pouring down in the form of rain.
They dripped down upon her face
And kissed her tears away.

She caught her breath and released a woeful sigh.
As she began to realise..
That even in death, he refuses to let her suffer
And end her life.

You're special. All my life I considered myself to be a multicolored iridescent stroke of art in this world of pastels shades and fine lines. I knew right from the start that I wasn't a masterpiece presented by Picasso or Kahlo. I was a pretty splotch of sunny hues and velvety blues cleverly spilled over the black canvas.
To find me beautiful, it required a keen eye that was ready to overlook the dainty presentation of the works of Van Gogh. There exists a story of pain and insanity behind each work of his creativity. I am and will always be the scribbled I ink across the sheet. There is a piece of poetry within me, for the person who is patient enough to look through my messy facade. And to pick up the pen and write a sonnet across my heart.
Even with the multicolored spots I bleed the words of love and loss. The two most basic emotions that are often left unexplored.
My soul hummed the old school love songs that no one could ever recognize. Until the day I met you. Even in a room full of exquisite wonders you chose me. You whispered the lyrics to my favorite song and left me spellbound. With a lopsided smile you held out your hand and asked me for a dance, without any conscious effort I floated and there I was; held securely in the arms of the man who owns my heart.

You thought that just because I'm a woman, I must be like a pretty delicate flower.
That needed to be sheltered and cared for.
That could get withered if someone even dared to pluck a petal.
But what you thought was wrong.
Yes, I'm just like a flower.
A flower... that is so rare that you won't be able to resist the temptation to take a better look..
And as soon as you get close you'll realise that the beauty was all but an illusion.
I'm a wild flower, so toxic that I'll burn you like acid.

Love is indeed the most tragic form of art.

After all my efforts to make him feel better,
He thanked me by pointing the gun and pulling the trigger.

Isn't it sad, how the waves in the ocean build themselves up to crash against one another and then subside... How they meet only for a second and then die?

I won't let them hurt you,
Even when we are nearing towards our end
Remember, You have the blood of the wolves coursing through your veins
You were born to be beautiful and wild
You have the power to massacre an entire village,
Yet, I know you'll choose to be kind
For you have a heart that can't see someone cry
You'll be dauntless and free throughout
But dare they restrict your freedom,
Dare they tame your wild,
Dare they point at you with the sharp end of the knife
Never forget that you're a hound in a sheep's disguise
Rip out their throats if they force you to fight
Unleash your power,
And revel in who you really are
Let them know that you bow to no one
Let their fear be your strength
You were born to be the predator
Stop being treated like a prey
Howl until they finally set you free
Be glorious; you are a warrior
And thats what you were destined to be.

Her lips refused to say what his heart yearns to hear,
Her silence screamed in the form of countless tears.
The unsaid words loomed heavily in the air,
A tangible pain that neither of them could bear.

Love is the most desired form of tragedy.

I wish I had the guts to speak what I had kept suppressed within me.
I wish I could tell the world that not everything in my life is as good as it seems.
But all I really do is keep silent and smile.
Bottling up the burden of emotions that I carry in my mind
I can taste the tears that are burning in my eyes,
I can feel the urge to let them drip down and cry,
I can sense the inevitable depression that is about to overcome my being.
I can feel the need to let out a scream.
I can hear the conflicting thoughts in my mind.
Contemplating the idea to suffer or commit a crime.
These thoughts turn into a whirlpool of rage.
As I pick up the lethal addiction that I had avoided for decades
The blade is still shiny as it was before
The reopening of old wounds never made me feel so sure.
The sharp edge scrapes the old scar that adorned my wrist
The blood flows out and provides an instant hit.
My mind floats in oblivion as I lose control
Slipping from the reality that I no longer wish to hold.

He wasn't a loner.
He was just a wanderer in search for a place where he could find peace.
His imagination was too vivid and wild. His mind was like a sphinx, impossible to decode.
His thoughts were a tangled mess of knots.
He was a mystery.
He was never able to seek peace but he found something intriguing. He met her.
Just like him - Wandering like a gypsy, with chaos occupying her mind.
She was like the missing piece from his jigsaw puzzle of a life.
Together they dreamt about all the magical infinities they longed for all their lives.

Such a shame it is,

To be a writer.

We feed on sorrow and pain

We romanticize the tragedy

And live off on the agony

Angst is what fuels our days

Love is something we love to illustrate

Through magical words

Which are written in calligraphy across pages

Heartbreaks become our muse

Lover’s betrayal becomes our passion

We claim to devote our time to writing

When the truth is that we are constantly just fighting!

Living in a mental battlefield

Where the conflicting thoughts

Trigger our rage and grief.

For her you'd have massacred an entire village without a second thought.
Whereas for me, you won't even consider the idea of picking up a sword.

I was a blank book. Within me, you wrote a beautiful love story.
Filled my pages with illustrative words and added a hint of mystery.
And then you stopped without finishing the end,
Turned me into a masterpiece, over which the lovers lament.

Someday my love will scream louder than the words that I write.

I lost the love that I rightfully deserved, when I decided to let you go.

Never tell a writer that you'll love them forever.
For them, forever isn't a lie. The idea of infinite love isn't a myth.
They have the power to string your love affair with such words that it'd last an eternity.
The fairytales aren't just fables, they serve to represent the existence of magic.
Never question a writer's love for you.. you know why?
It makes us insecure. We get worried that you're not able to find yourself behind every sentence that we write.
For us, you're not just special. You're our wild muse. You spark the creativity within us. And if that's not the biggest compliment, then I don't know what is!
We writers are a complicated cosmo of chaos and dreams. There is a constant urge to write, but there is no muse.
So, Darling please don't burden your pretty little mind.. Your mere existence is the reason as to why we write.

I crave love, the way a poet yearns for his muse.

Your heart isn't a home for every person who seeks shelter.
Your heart isn't a piece of paper where people can sign off without saying goodbye.
Your heart isn't supposed to heal their wounds every time.
Your heart isn't a beautiful painting where people can trace it's different strokes
Please remember that your heart isn't a home for every person that knocks at your door.
Don't let them tamper with the love that you harbor.
Your heart is not made of gold. But it is full of kindness.
Your heart is not a home with a welcome mat spread right outside.
Your heart isn't a yard sale where people can trade emotions whenever they feel like.
Your heart is naive like a kid and it does not realize what is wrong and what is right.
Your heart is not a home for the person who leaves their footprints on the ground and vanishes right out of sight.