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Mar 2014 · 440
Untitled
Prodhi Manisha Mar 2014
“Trust you to trust

Someone like me,” she bites back

Her eyes glaring with a hollow where her faith in herself

Should’ve been. If she were a god

She’d be an atheist.



“I don’t see myself

Being anywhere but here with you.”

Silly, silly boy who’d put her on a pedestal so high even she

Couldn’t climb it. If she were a god

He’d be a fanatic.



“I’ll do you nothing

But harm. You’ll be covered in scars

By the time I’m done with you.” Worthless. She felt worthless

She wished she could make him

Happy. She can’t. Never.



He took his arm and

Brushed it against a sharp edge, blood

Dripping relentlessly. She gasped, “What the ****? You– are you

Suicidal? Because even I’m not

That ****** up, seriously.”



He chuckled dryly, stepped

Towards her, smearing blood on the sleeve

Of her wedding dress. The warm breath on her reeked of sincerity

For once. “Trust me,” he whispered,

“You’re worth suffering for.”
Mar 2014 · 390
Untitled
Prodhi Manisha Mar 2014
Sprawled across the floor of my room

I feel drained. So empty that I feel

The sides of my body collapsing inward

I’m imploding.



It’s been a while since I have stargazed.

Danced in the rain. Written a poem.

I don’t feel butterflies because the inside

Of my stomach is so ******* cold

Why wouldn’t they in their right mind

Migrate to warmer weathers?



Someone once said I’m light, wondered

If I had low bone density. Maybe.

Or maybe I’m so hollow inside that I weigh

Nothing. My soul went on a diet of kale and

Crushed hopes. Got devastated in a game of pong

As I chugged down cups and cups of bitter reality

Late into the night. **** my 10 11 12.

This tastes worse than Keystone.

I’m *******. I’m imploding.

Good Sam me.

— The End —