absolute seconds of nothingness
when realities align, and for a moment
my heart, my lungs, this body — they take the brain and go down.
it sinks.                                        

                                                          uh,­ no—she doesn’t. she didn’t.

at first, it's despiteful, alerting — i'm scared, screaming:
please hook me up to the machines.
and then it coerces the will to do the rights and throws it out, off the ****** roof:
lie here, let it fall, sink below.
and that nothingness brings out the truth.

                                                         ­            why don’t you trust her?

is carving truth on my skin enough,
or will i have to spell it out too?

                              oh, right. listen to them; obviously, you would.

if i could be different person, i would —
stuck in the body of well,
how i've become and how i live,
even i wish none of it was true.

               go ahead. can’t fight off those creepy— i know i should!

does happiness have to be earned?
can it not come free of cost?
do i have to work its worth,
and then cherish it cause it's once in a while,
and not something that'll last me until the next time?

                                                          ­                        talk the talk, huh?

seen the way they talk,
hollowed from with, the evil within lurks,
not standing down even when they get caught—
it's creepy. it is disgusting.
i'd lock me up if i could,
just to escape the wounding,
all that the mere sights do.
but giving them the satisfaction?
oh, not really—hell of a *******.
you didn't get to me.

                                                         claim, aim… for what? owning?

i'll pick up the knife
and stab myself if that'll bring them
to shut the hell up and maintain the distance.
the farther you are,
the less chances of their blades cutting.
too deep grazes are enough,
take away the shine
and stab it back to their origin.

                  pathetic little liars, dancing the dance of the druggies.

the body's shivery,
the temperature within too cold—
the skin burns, however,
at touch, and the outsides just make it a lot more worse.

                              she didn't— i've seen! she didn't take anything!

i woke up nauseous,
feeling like someone kicked my guts in sleep.
it's all a cycle, one that repeats,
but i'm tired of accepting
and finding new signs, every single time.

                                            open your eyes, what lies in the vision?

the world too fast—this brain too slow.
no, no, no, the other way round:
the world too slow,
this brain too fast.

                                                          ­stars. galaxies. the pretty peace.

wait, i hear in between the lines
and the sound, the light—
it whispers, strategically placing itself in my peripheral,
telling me, oh shush, you're a cry baby.

                                                         ­              solemn baby, surrender.

to defeat them, i do, i do it everytime.
i ought to shut them through,
and they go away for periods,
long enough sometimes,
and i think they'll never return.

                              not leaving anything behind, never allowed to.

but they're here right now,
knocking at the doors of my being,
telling me if i didn't open up,
they'll trash it down, bring me lower,
push me under.

                          they'll be near, here, in the shadows, everywhere!

they bring coffins with them,
one built of every single regret and guilt.
till how long do i defeat?
a standalone process, till when does it repeat?

there's no more air left in the world,
and the city's gone too quiet.