Okay* is a faraway star
and I'm constantly trying to reach it.

I will be ready, ready, ready
to let you go one day! I will be ready,
ready, ready.
And then I won't won't won't think of you
And it won't won't won't won't matter
when
or why
I see you
or not.
And nothing, no good or bad memories
will make me cry
and I won't wet my pillow
won't scream your name in the dark
won't slash my wrist, won't write more poems
about you.

"One day you will make one hell of a heartbreaker!" she told you.
You laughed that clinking-bells laugh of yours, blurring the world with heaven's sigh.
Then you whispered something in her ear and left her smiling too.

You did make one hell of a heartbreaker, sweety.
But it was more hell than heart,
More tumult than treasure.
It was more vomits out of sheer extremity of sadness,
tears out of mere helplessness.
It was more blood than poetry,
More distrust than sanity.

You have already won that compliment, my tormentor,
Wish you'd never struggle more.

Thank you for making me feel ****
\ all these years,
making me cry and leaving me always
to lick the empty burning hole.
Thank you for making me feel incomplete
when all I asked was a sense
of trust
to belong.
I hate you very much,
but like all other typical losers,
I will have to forgive you so I can move on.
But,
I didn't deserve you. I know that.

Isn't it easier to choose hell
over peace which seems so
unattainable always?

You could either peel your skin
off, or you could kiss your hands
and be gentle with yourself because
others aren't.

The best and the hardest thing I did for myself was putting a price on my love.
You couldn't love me when you didn't love me entirely.
You couldn't love me only because you needed someone to have conversations with.
You couldn't love me because, and only because, you needed me.
To love me,
You have to be honest.
To love me,
You have to love all of me.

I am sure you didn't think you would need help so soon
But here you are crippling
at nobody's doorstep
crying to be heard and understood without even saying

You tell yourself this is the limit
I'll wait until 10 then I'll stop missing
When it's still 6 hours until then
And you sleep, don't weep, work and run
Out of time. He doesn't return
Ever.

For all the times I mentally send you 'hi'
and all the times I re re re rewind to remember
our last conversation
and how I dwell on it
to find where the loop was-- that I didn't see coming
how it all just ended. Why was there no goodbye?
It breaks me. The lack of answers and loss of hope
breaks me. I think of you every single day, and night.

I still find myself treading sometimes
The roads that once led to you.
Humming to the absolute dark
What once were *our poems.

If both the people
Are continually waiting to meet each other
At the end of their respective, tiring circles
Why can't they be cojoined?

Why can't we just be us?

You were a black patch in a pitch dark universe, only with a simple streak of blue
A silver lining all of you

I was light. Constantly trying to enter, without realizing that it won’t in any way broaden that delicate border

That a full ray has no correlation with it, and they most certainly don't blend in each other

It helps no one, heals nothing, amounts to just more vacuum -- empty, vacant spaces. Hollow and scary!

That colors cannot be mistaken for paints, and especially not when they're out in space

Do you really think I care?—The purple blanket of night
drops ever so regally, meticulous its stance
over every dark heart you've created onto this very vulnerable skin
every single time
scars hide, and so does light—Do you really think I pine - and only pine - always when you leave?

This pain is too familiar.

Is it bad that I went back to have a glimpse of you,
lover lost in haze and days,
and got myself this deep knot tightening every minute?

Is it bad that I miss you without loving you

If cursing you
or crying rivers
or breaking pens and
pencils
or marring the sculpture
I had so lovingly made
of your face
or taking pills
or cutting skin
or drinking blood
or pinning eyes
or pinching shoulders
or pulling hair
or lashing legs
or inflicting pain
however
could erase the pain,

I would.

This sadness that is bone-deep
This sadness that makes me want to shred my skin and disappear
Into my veins, as blood.

I picked a color
then picked another
and dropped them both
one by one.
First fell blue
then followed green
and soon my brush
painted marine.

Today, I want to weep.
It's giving me pain. And this much pain I cannot handle. I haven't felt it like this before. What is this?
They killed them. They killed children! 84 of them! They killed school kids! Those beasts. Those animals. Those heartless, inhumane murderers. They killed innocent creatures, they took lives. Lives of so many.
And what am I to do? What are you to do? What is anyone to do?

Why are people talking about lands and religions? Why aren't they seeing what the families are going through? Won't they learn a filthy promise is nothing but that-- a filthy promise? Those ******* liars. Those politicians and haters scoring points, what even is this?

And that's how this will end, like ever. Drink tea, relax, watch movies maybe?
Die.

I own these pieces
and I know you cannot put them back together.

they are all growing old
old and apart.
none of them truly excited
about anything at all
and as they stand close,
shoulders touching,
you hear them whisper,
dewy-eyed:
happiness is not a goal.
you nod
and stifle a giggle.
they're all the same
all, winners in this game

hope
f-f-flickersss
dies.

can you find for me
a remedy
to ease this pain of separation?
it was supposed to have ended way earlier

Thinking of it just
Gives me a twist in the stomach
And a terrible, terrible pain

If you come back today
I will have to find
a million more ways
to cope for later
when you leave
because you always do
and it's too much for me
to bear.

Just never come back again.
Ever. Ever. Ever.

Sometimes I think I can only thank God enough
for not letting us happen.
I didn't deserve you like you deserve someone else, and truly
I wouldn't mind that now.

because my heart bleeds such.

Heart,

I know you hate it but I can't help it.
I am willing to get hurt now because it will be better than that hell which comes later on.
You have seen it. You know it.
               So please, stay strong.
Please, keep more than just beating.

I miss writing proper poetry.

One that's not hung loose from a noose or edging on a cliff just so
I'm done with danger.

One that doesn't spell p o v e r t y in thoughts, in soul's actions,
nor one that respells anything at all, really. I'm done fearing.

I'm done fearing, I say, but maybe I really am not. It's been driving me and it will drive me
to the end of Who can say what.
A poetry that isn't about sadness, or sad pills, or dungeons you're left in to rot
Aren't you enough fed up of the foul smell?

I can't also fit rainbows in my lines
That is not what I hold in my pocket
And even if I did, once, I've forgotten how they look like.

But I miss writing proper poetry now
One that isn't about losses.
One that doesn't begin or end with your memory, doesn't trace lines on my skin with red.

I'm done writing, perhaps.
But I'm not done trying. Not yet.

You were a colon
and semicolons you detested
I tried putting a comma there
like grammar lady suggested.
but our life, it seems, is an underscore
or an inverted question mark blotted
because whenever I ask for space
or try putting us back within a parenthesis,
you usually slash me―or backslash me.
This is not, however, how I had imagined
us to be. I always wanted a life smooth as tilde
a prime time together, without fearing bad weather
I wanted us to fight against negations,
but like a dagger kills relations
or a bullet, we died inside too…
It is a broken bar now, and it hurts
at the highest degree of pain.
Can we still back into space though,
or is it about time we put a full stop?

How do I ask you to come here?
How late is too late? I don't know
Or when is it time to move on?

I don't miss you,
I'm not waiting for you,
I have forsaken hope.

Never loved you

You are a tight ache pulling at my heart every now and then
You never go away... even after all this time.

I saw something that you would have loved,
and asked myself why
so many things have become a reminder
of you only.

I can't not go back and trace those lines of your name, those dots
Their touch giving me what your absence cannot...
An awareness of what once was.

a void
should not be called
just a void.
this way I am feeling
deserves certainly
another name.
something more sadder,
and deeper
quieter
and scarier.
because there is no pain
here
just... the lack of it
and the lack of everything else
and everything else
and else
and el
s
e.

Don't forget me

you are where i return to,
after everything, when it gets tiring
when i've thought about you too much,
i return to thinking of you. it gives me peace.

I still look back at you but it doesn't mean that I love you.
It doesn't mean that I care about you
Heck, if you were drowning I would wish you drown more quickly
Do not let him get out of this, God
Except for that last moment of helpless suffering - elongate it into years that were of my own pain
Let him die in thick clouds of airless water,
And dense regret.

I don't know if it is the right thing to do
But I miss you.

The timing was right.
Y'all say it happened at the wrong time.
Y'all say you weren't ready really.
Y'all blame the time.
Time is fate.
Why'd y'all blame your fate?
It happened on the right time.
Wrong were the people!
Your heart, your foolish frightened heart
And his untrue,
playful poetry.
It wasn't time's fault! It was people.
It was unnecessary patiene.
It was fear.
It was fire.
It was poetry.

I am sorry, little one.
I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry!
And if my apology could but change your present,
if it could but cover your blasphemous past,
if it could only, only better your future.
Little kid, I am sorry, sorry, sorry...

sadness isn't contagious
it's just heavy and personal
always personal:
eats you inside
and nobody knows

Enduring is not the key.
Then what is?

I am so tired
of all this ****,
says everyone.

Yet nobody stands
and leaves from the door.

We all enjoy
the view
of ourselves being eaten
by sadness.

can we just disappear
without making a scene of ourselves?

can i just crawl back into my mother's womb?

8:27
You wanted to see him, don't you?
And now you think it's all coming down
Destruction is here.

You thought healing was a poem away.
Oh, how wrong you were..
8:28

You wanted to see him, don't you?
And now you feel as if someone has taken it all away
In a moment: your peace, your power, and all that you had built since last time.

8:30
You're still writing this because you think
You'll be able to face the world again
Put up your nice facade and say: it didn't matter, oh, what?
It didn't matter, of course.
You saw him, that's all.
And he's fine without you.

H  e  l  p
it said on the Google search page open
a cursor still blinking, blinking still
but her life already ended
no more electrocardiozags
no more hope, no pain, screech of desperate despair

1:05 PM.
I am sitting on my bed, laptop in front of me.
Searching vague terms.
And then it hits--
It was you. I remember the dream now.
It was your text, after all this time, and only I on this space can imagine the feelings it brought.
It was your text, and then I had replied, and then...
And then I couldn't find it in my phone anymore.
The dream ended on searching and searching
has seeped through in my day since.
Maybe another night? Maybe another day?

to ask for help. is one of the most difficult things ever. you never know what you're becoming until you've become that. and then you see, and you're like, ouch, how do i go back?

some people feel they'd rather die than open up. but some others say, vulnerability is beautiful. accept it. it's okay, because everybody else isn't doing so, you should.

a cousin said i was an open book. i didn't know if it was bad or good but i thought i didn't want to be an open book. that happened years ago.

sometimes you keep secrets for so long it gets bad. maybe like, secrets could be some fruits, and they remain nice and all but then they rot. either you should throw them away or remove them from your system. don't let them become an illness. and it's always hard to share what matters but you should, because we're all dying either way and each one of us is so small.

everybody should be an open book. because why not.

this is not a poem.
it's just me
b  l  e  e  d  i  n  g
my heart out
hoping that the void
would recover,
the pain
would subside
somehow.

It's not good.
Not good how you're destroying me.
How I am letting you destroy me.
Whose fault? Mine, you say?
But I loved!
Yours. You played.