I'm afraid I'll always be the nails buried deep in my palms, the excuses behind why I let him hurt me, and the reason she tried to end her life.

This is anything but strength,
and I am constantly showering my hurt over everyone like debris over a war zone,

and I can't help but to feel so toxic.

There are only two options
Give up or keep fighting
The voice always told me
And I always knew
I can't give up

But in the darkest night of the souls
With obstruction insurmountable
The voice stopped speaking
There's no winning this war
I can't keep fighting

I call on you
Tell me what to do

Who to love;
Who to hate.
The answer once clear
Now I don't see you here.
You left.
Sent your message in an email
That left me wide eyed and pale.
Here, as I cry and wonder,
"How did you not know
I would take this as a blow?"

You'll realize that sometimes
it's easier to deny the pain you feel
rather than trying to face it,

but I hope you find enough
strength within yourself
to conquer it anyways,
before it tries to conquer you.

-k.w//Conquer

Poetry
Some write few lines,
Which relate to an incident they had in this life.
Some write to express what they feel within,
I write to let the fear within me be seen by millions.
Words form from just 24 alphabets,
Each word has its own meaning,
Yet why do i arrange these words in a unique way?
That they let out the deepest feelings in me.
Sometimes i cry out in pain,
Sometimes whatever i do is in vain.
But how can these mere words,
Project what my inner self is going through?
The words in which i express myself.
When i show it to someone else?
Do they feel the same way too?
No two persons can be same,
No two feelings can be same.
When a fruit falls from the tree, the little child is dancing with joy while the Gardner cries in anger.
The words have their own magic,
It all seems like a game of hide and seek..
Do i hide behind these words which i write?
Does my deep inner self, which shouts all the time, make me write the words flowing in my mind into a meaningful verse ?
So, someone reads these hidden words and seek what i truly am.
Maybe i write to hide, and you read to seek.
But we both really look for the same things, our true deep feelings.

I am looking for a place to return to.
I have no strength.

I find myself exposed, one skewed shadow
pulling roots beneath the sun.

Overnight I became wary of everything.
I remark at my own existence. That I could walk away from it.
As all colours part from me.

I open my mouth. I am full of willows and moth wings.
I look for words. I find the old ones and dig up
empty rooms.

I have become so simple.
My anger slouches in the corner like a rook.  Shuffling, always shuffling.
But he will not speak to me.

This is a living thing.
The paradox is a minor landscape.

No time believes in me.

I will say it again.
I woke this morning and found myself missing.