Under the hollow in the ground,
I find the unspoken words quaking, meaning to be let out
I turn my back on it, so that I can convince us both how hard it is,
to love a ruptured soul.
The sun shines bright on me,
I close my eyes and cease to weep,
How does it get better?
I phase in and out of my creed, penetrating
into the darkest corners exploring if the questions have been erased.
I curve back within myself again and again, falling asleep.
I lay down on the floor staring at the ceiling, wondering if it speaks
in words, in thumps, I try to reach.
Over and over, I cross each room, finding no water to drink,
to suffice the soul within.
It’s been empty.
Scraping the unrealities of my being, realising how it isn’t easy
for my hands
to leave the things
it holds with much unease,
it hits my mind suddenly,
how my world revolves, but wrongly.
How do I learn to not think over and over
about the many things getting
deeper and deeper
within
until I’m lone?
Fresh and stale, it feels as I open the windowpanes
letting the air touch my skin
Making the dead pigmentation flee, I breathe.
The voices caught in my throat long to travel to places
I’ve been scared to be at, they wreathe dreams
out of dead petals of flowers, longing to bloom even when I haven’t.
Being hopelessly in love with a memory, I recall the times
I sang merrily.
It fills me with joy, to think of my world to be as happy as it used to be
Like a gentle flutter of a butterfly’s wing feels on the skin.
So I say the words that water flowers,
‘Guess, I am falling in love again, with me.’

I talk to you in metaphors, and you wonder what’s wrong with me.
You wonder how the transition has been so rapid.
I tell you,
“Storms, humans. Humans, storms.
They‘re both synonymous.”
You stare at me, clueless, not getting the inside vibe or the feeling.
But you try.
Standing right 7 inches away, I see your helpless soul trying to unfurl and entangle all it senses again and again,
I see you try to figure out what I mean.
But I fail you, each time.
Because, I can’t let you know what any metaphor I verbalise, could ever mean.
“I meant nothing, stupid”
I laugh and tell you.
You stare right into my eyes. You’re not smiling. But you are.
You’re not grieving. But you are.
I stare right back at you, agreeing to what your eyes are saying.
“We’ve lost each other.” I hear this heavy bang onto my head,
And then,
I feel it.
I feel the word ***** arising.
I feel the thousand heavy words ever felt unsaid, violently trying to break out.
The stacked memories make me twitch, hard and brutal.
The incessant craving to hold you back and make you stay, this time at least, takes over.
Eye lids start to feel heavy and gradually, drop as I’m filled with remorse and frailty.
My hands tremble along with my feet, and descend, busted.
And I realise, that despite all the hundred times I’ve tried to convince myself that you would no longer matter, I still ache for you.
And suddenly, my entire being feels tired, once and all over again.

“Have you seen a broken man? “

Ah, a broken man.
With a broken soul trying to gather all the shattered pieces
to put it all back together.
The eyes, which seem appealing, yet ironically are, devastated
Trying to find their release.
The shivering hands, wrinkled
which put all efforts to not reach the kitchen
and pick up the knife.
The stomach which can’t help but give collywobbles
as giving the butterflies or even the slight content from
the scanty amount of happiness
seems to require the world’s strength
To hide the pain and shove it inside the blanket
and never let it peep out.
The legs which have lost control
as laying in bed with the pillow that remains soggy
has become wonted over time
Time
which brings with it absolute nothingness
not a single blob of diversion or bliss.
The mind that tries to figure out ways
to escape from the crowd and vanish into solitude as
nothing else seems to give pleasure.
The eyes which have become unaware of any chore,
Other than holding back the heavy flow of the saline drops
descending down the cheeks
Unremitting.
As being sensitive is
probably the most irking and repellent trait one can possess.
The heart that longs to disappear into the abyss
never wanting to come back
pleading Him to take away his life
As the only release,
the only emancipation
he hit upon was eluding from the mayhem
and give up on holding his very last breath.

“Yes, I have seen a broken man and to tell you, it’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Perhaps, you could only perceive me, among the crowd
to give the glee,
the butterflies
the stars
and the moonlight.
Perhaps, I was the one who could make you sightless and oblivious to the cosmic flaws I possessed
to never be able to notice the slight insecurity that creeps in
when I laugh
or smile
of not having that unblemished, perfect silhouette of the lips.
To never be able to notice the slight timidity that creeps in
when I recite some blissful moments in a loud, excited tone
“you have the timber of a guy”
remarks like such
don’t bother except
making me more uncommunicative
mute
muter
day by day.
Perhaps, you are naive
rather
laughable
To only pick me out of the clique.
Perhaps, you’ve not seen the world at all
the pretty
attractive
and oh, those girls with the perfect curves,
faultless features.
Perhaps, I love you too.
I love you too,
because I am a girl born with the flaws
spreading my vision in each corner
ever since
trying to find someone to love me too
like it happens in romantic movies.
And now that, I am convinced all of it is actually taking place in real,
I love you.
With all the tiniest of the pieces of my heart
that try to reach the trail which leads to you,
With the eyes that rummage around for you
With Me,
Who has lost everything to you.
And still
I doubt
I doubt if all this is merely a dream that awaits the surpassing end to, once again
once again
shatter it all and leave me broken,
Defeated
Crushed.

Hollows of my bones
penetrate deep down, until it eats all the light, little, tiny
which has been trying to grow
To make me smile, like before.
Like I used to, ages ago.
I don’t know what this is. It eats me like a beast.
Powerless it feels,
just as I try to cart my body away from the embrace of the monstrous dark that beholds me with a creepy smile
Telling me to come back to it.
But I don’t.
I won’t, it feels like a conflict to decide between life and living in death.
The brute leers, and smirks with the knowledge it has won, I will return
‘Visit me again, darling’.
It haunts me to see my footsteps crawling back to it.
My feet shrivel, stopping me from once again ending up in desolation.
My eyes, habitual to the redness in them,
Burn red, sensing the menace.
My lungs swell, not wanting to.
My head hurts, not wanting to.
My hands start to lose weight and give in, not meaning to let me down,
But because they’re aware too,
They’re destined to
Go back to what haunts them, not wanting to
And I
I still try
To give them life, to make them once again, rejoice and fly
Make the dead soul I gave birth to, rise
Knock Knock.
Knock knock.
Knock Knock.
I’m terrified. The ghost has arrived, just as it found out,
I’ve been trying to cut the ropes it held me in, tight.
I shiver and slowly edge towards the dimly lit corner of the room and shrink,
Darkness and terror surrounds me; I fail to heave in air
I sense déjà vu
Defeat in the form of the ghost, sweeps me in its arms,
Tells me to shush; We’re flying