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Aditya Roy Feb 8
When I was a kid
I'd fall and hurt myself
But I knew how to stop crying
Wipe the tears and shed the blood
Back then
That's how it was
No matter the intensity
Of the fight

These days
It's different
I fall and hurt myself
While there's not a graze to show
Evidence of the pain
No enemy to harm me
There's a cut
In the heart so deep
That I can no longer
Stand up
And wipe the tears
So easily

I thought the sniffling
Strong kid
Who beat up the foes
Was a brave soul
But breaking down is okay
And we were conditioned
To be stoic
Back then

Remember that the next time
You think upon your childhood
At your lowest point
And darkest moment
Aditya Roy Jan 1
He says you need a cigarette
You look stressed
That's the last thing I need right now
We need to go somewhere far off

On a distant pond
Where the rocks break the ripples
And the sun reflects in your eyes
Intoxicating me

As I peel off your thin disguise
It is the last time
We'll meet
So let's make it last tonight
  Dec 2024 Aditya Roy
Emma
If you'd say

s
o
r
r
y,

I’d forgive all that you’ve done—

                                   Even this shadow,

The hollow shell you shaped me,

                                   Yearning still for your soft voice.
  Dec 2024 Aditya Roy
Emma
The branches lattice beneath her, black veins
etching the earth's sallow skin. She lies
as if pinned, a moth, the ground
opening its throat to devour her whole.

The trees, thin-limbed and aching, lean in,
their shadows like fingerprints
on her bare thighs. He is above her,
a dark weight, his breath thick
as the stench of iron. Crooked teeth
graze her tender insides, his mouth
a cavern of rot. Her chipped nails catch
on his skin, splintering her last defense—
each struggle a hymn he hums through his teeth.

The bass thumps in the distance,
a pulse too far to save her. His rhythm
is sharper, faster, a saw grinding
through the fragile architecture
of her. Her pelvis cracks beneath
his thrusts, her fragility undone,
his pleasure oozing into her wounds.

Before this—before him—there was the Dragon.
Silver foil unfolded like a revelation,
blue smoke crawling through her lungs,
its touch an anesthetic hymn. She exhaled
herself into nothingness, a slip of a girl,
a husk, unseeing. Vulnerability etched itself
into her marrow. The trees,
silent anatomists, catalogued her surrender.

Now, she is a secret the earth consumes,
her body a whisper the soil licks clean.
The trees will remember the taste of her,
their roots tangled in her hair, their leaves
swaying with the rhythm of her fall.
No one else will know—
only the trees, their mouths sealed with bark,
their witness as still and eternal as stone.
Aditya Roy Dec 2024
I don't want him to open his heart
And to welcome me back
In his open arms
But I wept
When I realised
That I was only a child
Aditya Roy Dec 2024
I don't have an iota of malice
Not a single bad bone in my body
And warmth flows through these veins
Yet a guilty conscience
Has convinced me that
I'm not good enough
  Dec 2024 Aditya Roy
Emma
We grip the day like a child grips
a parent’s hand,

trusting the pull forward,

but night comes, dark and wet,

a mouth of fears opening wide—

we fight inside it, each breath a battle,

and by morning, we are raw,

but whole, stitched together by the sharp

thread of surviving ourselves.
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