'O' this rain
knocking a distinct pain
while I'm sitting in the train
here life uncut
though the glass window shut
everything moving fast, but
I'm locked, fixed
like a rotating disc
repeating the same song
as the rain longing as long
dropping rain drops
on the land of crops
on the pops
nonstops

....
From womb  to born
Every morn
Each breath
Even on the road of death
I’m alone
Walking with broken bone

While the Summer wind blows
In this narrow lane
Love flows in my wide vein
As the Streams of heavy rain
Alone else
Only the past tense

In the dark, I hark
A distant bark
In the dream there was
A beautiful park
With a few sign of paws
Yet I couldn’t find any cause

The Streams going down
While flowing in this old town
The Stone grew worn and torn
Rolling else alone
Like my broken bone
.......
@Musfiq us shaleheen

No books in my shelves.
No songs in my head.
No hearts in my heart.

There are not enough drugs for the pressure to ease.
The struggle to feel baby, nothing can release me.
Highs always come crashing down.
Every bridge burns to the ground.

A chest with no toys.
A board with no pieces.
You tore me to pieces.
Stealing all my peace.

Hurricane winds and messy minds.
My thighs around your waist, nothing can ease me.
Night loving never seems to ease me.

I am a ghost of who I'm not.
Just a person filling this slot.
Emotionless robot bracing for a fall.

All just leading to no healing.
Wrapped around your heart.
I am just another knot you cut off.

Dropping to the floor.
The fire burned me.
There is no fight left in me.

Nothing I can do to make it right.
Take my armor and, put my sword right through me.
Leave me to die, there's nothing good left in me.

I'm sorry but, I'm leaving me.
Put a peace sign up.
Nothing can come from me.

within my own vicinity
i search for simple serenity
tending to my own tendencies
mending without amenities

sick and twisted remedies
a bitter sweet identity
my slit-wristed entities
the enemies of my memories

When one is merely trapped within the caverns of the mind; thoughtless, or in a raging battle with self analysis

In those moments there, arises opportunity to find complete listlessness

Provide reason to question; if any of it is worth a **** to the self or a single other

Allow contemplation of ideas concerning wasting away while we become the molded version of others

The others are the ones that we systematically seek out to assist us in the culmination of interaction needed to arrive in this place of thought

Yet somehow retain enough of the self to exist