A walking tragedy
Along the street
With lines on her wrists
And a smile on her face.

Her interior beauty
No naked eyes see
Her destroyed exterior
Judged by plenty.

She learnt
To put on masks
As though parading
A life long masquerade.

A passion for the arts:
Her body the canvas
The blade her pen
Crimson red
Staining sheets.

Finally one day
She has had enough
Of leading a life
Akin to drama.

She threw away all masks
And showed her frown
Took the rope
And left the ground.

This beautiful tragedy
Remembered for
Her love & kindness
She didn't knew she possessed.

That's how the world is
A huge tragedy
Of unappreciated beings
Leaving without living.

Neither a word
Nor a feeling.
It's intangible
But
It's alive

Indescribable yet,
Able to cause sufficient damage
Equivalent to a single life.

Just a single day
Hundreds and thousands
Die
From the wrath
Of Pain.
In the mercy
Of its insatiable desire.

At times
Strength from it
Though mostly
destructive

No amount of mitigation
Or medication
Will cease its existence
For pain is real
And so are you.

(C.C)