his mind was stuck in an enclosure
the same thoughts were forever imposed
he did his best to regain his composure
that's when his reasoning froze

his heart was cold from exposure
forever, his tongue was opposed
he didn't know the way to closure
that door had already closed

the "light at the end of the tunnel"
is a train that's headed my way
i'll be crushed under wheels of steel
never to see the light of day

15th August:

It supposed to be my grand day,
Where people celebrates my birth,
Throwing parties and hand shakes,
Spelling out birthday wishes,
Gifts,
Cakes,
Hugs,
and kisses.

In reality,
I wasted my grand day.
I sit back and isolate myself.

It was supposed to be my grand day,

But I felt that it doesn't even matter,
to not celebrate it anyways.

It was supposed to be my grand day,

But nothing can stop my dull emotions,
and decided to let my day goes away.

It was supposed to be my grand day,

But no one seem to care about it anyways,
and so I kept my second week of August dull,
avoiding conversations and outings.

2 months ago, I had a dream,
of me, lying down in my death bed.
I screamed out of frustration of being death,
but gladly, it was only a dream,
that woke me up from my bed.

It was supposed to be my grand day,

Where I would be the main character on the 15th August,
Doing things I could not do, and
Enjoying the luxury for one day.

It was supposed to be my grand day,

That I must be grateful,
that I lived,
and aged another year,

But somehow...
These days...

I felt that birthdays are just another day,
and I felt there is no necessary need to celebrate it.

It was supposed to be my grand day,

But these days, I don't even mind about these things,
I am not that old yet, but
Seeing through my days,
Putting a full stop to my timeline
would still be an okay for me.

I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.