~
Hear me, and heed my woe,

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
              how thy smileth reaches
                            thy eyen and
                                    crinkles the c'rn'rs
                                                  immensely.
Thy confidence, a flame
          yond burneth with f'rvent might,
   intimidating, yet draweth me in,
                            as moth to candle's lighteth.
Thy passion is contagious,
                 thy excitement a thrill,
    i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
                                    but mem'ries ling'r still

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
          as thee gazeth into mine own eyen
                                        bef're our lips meeteth
    our intimate moments,
                                 a sensual rapture,
           thy corse, a w'rk of art,
                           sculpt'd p'rfectly in all its
                                                   muscular stature

i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
             the way we w're,
                     young with a future,
                                         we couldst not seeth.
      What ifs and maybes,
               a maze, i tryeth to escapeth,
                      longing f'r what couldst've been,
           a heart yond acheth.

Ev'ry fare thee well,
                             a pang in mine own chest,
         feareth of nev'r seeing thee again,
                                      and all yond is repress'd
Thy absence, a weight
              yond i doth striveth to shaketh,
     wond'ring wh're thou art,
                                       what thou dost maketh.
   Art thou joyous, art thou free from careth?
i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …
                     yet some days, 'tis hard to beareth.

In sooth,
    i am not depress'd,
           n'r doth i feeleth the blues, wh'reupon
i f'rce myself to not bethink on Thee …
                            by mineth owneth shall, anon.
~

Show me where the blade
dug so deep it left a scar.
I felt your pain long before
I ever heard your voice.
I was dancing to the symphony
of your broken heart—
its wreckage left me breathless.

Did you feel it too?
That you were too much,
and never enough?
The urge to tear off your own wings,
sink into the abyss,
consume your flesh,
devour desire,
and walk into fire?

You sing like someone
with gasoline in their veins,
blood set alight,
pleas turned to smoke
as desperation claws your skin.

Are you like me?
Waiting for a hand in the dark,
longing to be understood?
Your pain bleeds through every note,
yet when you open your mouth
no sound comes out right.
Have you ever wondered
if heaven hears your prayers?

Who made you cry like that?
Who broke you open like that?
Are you yearning for a savior,
or waiting to earn salvation?

I felt your soul
long before your voice reached me—
crawling, begging.
Do you want to share your pain with me,
or sit with mine?
Let me touch it,
cradle it close to my chest.

I won’t mend your heart,
I won’t stitch your wounds—
but I will hear you.
I always have,
even before I understood.
The weight of your words
presses down on my chest
like a loaded gun,
cold against my skin.

Show me where the blade
dug so deep it left a scar.
Will our paths ever cross?
Let me hold your sorrow.
Rest here until it no longer hurts.
Sing to me until fate collides with mercy—
let me embrace your pain away.


- N.V. 🥀

A musty feel for the ancient
Took possession of this child
     of Virginia,
Where every field of play
Was a field of ghosts from
     the dying battles’
Dripping carts, dripping air,
     dripping red earth,
And the dripping sun’s slant
     in Fall.

How can I unmake indignant hands,
rolled, into fists?
If I kiss the fingers, will they unfold,
like celestial doors,
and beckon me in?
If I traverse your lifeline,
with softened eyes, and lips,
will we time skip,
Into a time, and place,
that's better, than this?

Even in thunder,
you dwell
at the center, of me.

I wonder,
would you melt...
with my hand, on your cheek.

they mark their invisible boundaries by the coast
moist air fills the lungs leaving an aching throat
we say it is a part of our world
yet they should be on their own undisturbed
they grace us with their presence
filling the coast with blessings
{i Took
a smooth shell that sparks like dusk
buries within fine thin dust uncrushed
now living in a corner within the books}
though they are tarnished from their purest form
they wash into our world like dawn
mother with silken hands that’s warm
i Refuse
the world that burns cold
with a legacy building on others’ doom
for i am an alien that Cruises
all far and about with a primal desire
they may speak sweet and serene
but they can roar and conquer
bestowing swift death like a reaper
they hug
my feet that’s just inches away
soothing the beats that’s ruined and astray
legs moving till i can no longer reach the ground
i drown
within the other realm of purity
they embrace
the cuts the wounds from the other side
the world calls it death by water
but i call it a return to my origin.

Mail box
Just
For
Mail
Mole box
Just
Points
The
Mole?.......
                      - Amisha priya