I wish to love myself like those love poems; Intense yet mellow, with a bittersweet tone. Write numerous love letters to myself; On days when I feel so dull & clueless. On days, oh so bright; I wish to be peaceful, and free from all sorrows & fright. Who'd save me if not myself; Who'd love me if not myself.
I feel bad about feeling so sad for this blissful life of mine; But then feel guilty for being too happy at the same time. On days, oh so flawless, life feels euphoric & perfect; Just the next days are filled with guilt & regret. Hopping with joy on days beautiful & bright; Miserably sobbing & choking on beautiful nights. Feeling so **** grateful for everything I have; Feeling so awfully pathetic for wasting them away. Too lazy to function or just too sick to feel lazy; I can't even think properly, it's all too hazy. Feeling insignificant while observing others' lives; Feeling overwhelmed or distressed about mattering while being alive. Faking a face that's not mine at times; With a blank mind & senses resonating violent ringing of malicious chimes.
I feel so blissful but the pathetic feeling of not being worthy of that bliss is so painful.
Sitting beside people with their own spinning worlds; Blooming & withering silently or aloud. I wish to pluck flowers from their minds; Dust their thoughts, like pollen, here & there & blow them away in the wind. Those thoughts would fly away, Breaking & regrowing on the way. Merging with fragments of many other thoughts; Some alike & other utterly disparate. They could reach someone else's world; And might disappear or may start to bud. With intensities, oh so different; They may keep persisting with the same purpose they were meant. If only I could whisper into the wind with my feeling blowing away too; How beautiful would it be if it reached someone just the way I wished to. Someone who might be wishing for a solace; I wish I could bring a tender smile to that face.