I remember, the voice,
Well no, it was scream, yet too soft,
Soft enough, like the pat on my shoulder
Perhaps, its warm arms, she desired
It wasn’t as cold, to cuddle the fire
But it’s the heat, that warms a cold heart
My inner me, did not want love,
Maybe just that peace of the heart,
It was not suicidal, I preferred it pain elsewhere,
Not in my heart, no!
I was at the edge of a cliff,
My self against the whirlwind
I was sure, it was time to end it,
The pat again, and this time round,
She said, ‘hold on a little longer’
But why? it was pathetic enough!
My horoscope was so dark,
Then what’s the reason to breath,
Well, I was just surviving, and not living?
This time round, she tapped me hastily,
‘Hey! We are not mad; we are just stigmatized!’