I feel trapped
Trapped in my own thoughts

The walls of lonelyness
is increasing me

I have this newborn feeling
It feels like i'm dying inside

and while the sunshine fades
*Will the darkness take me away

Sometimes I think that love toys with me because she knows just how easy it is to break me. If I could sing of all the ways in which she got me wrong, or fumbled on her timing, god ****** my vocal chords would rip themselves out- because I sure wouldn't have the strength to. I surrender; I am waving the white flag because I am defeated by her lack of empathy. Why does she give only to take? Is it because my child-like-heart still refuses to learn from the many mistakes that I've made?

But...

Innocence doesn't know any better than to look for comfort and warmth in open spaces, doesn't bother to use a compass to find out where exactly it's running to, or even understand that not everybody who holds my hand is worth bleeding out for.

The other day love came through my doors unannounced: she was livid and shouting obscenities, demanding me to tell her what exactly it was that I wanted from her. What.did.I.want. from.her? The audacity-

Dear love,

Where were you when the entire house of cards that we built and called home, came crashing down? You know, I still haven't managed to pick out the small pieces of your betrayal from the hallowed out spaces between my bruised ribs. As it turns out, you actually can't fashion a future out of tattered faith and recycled paper just like you said.

YOU'RE A SUFFOCATOR: my lungs are burned and black because I'm still breathing in smoke from the previous fires that you started. How dare you leave my mouth parched, constantly thirsty for something sweeter than your bitter endings! That is not fair. I found out years too late that blind trust is really not the same as following you, mind shut, into the dark. (And just to let you know, you actually never did explain the difference between "white lies" and "half truths" right.)

I'm exhausted. But I guess constantly having to search for meaning in empty conversations will do that to a person. I followed your voice here because I thought that that was what you wanted me to do. Well, wasn't it?...

If you stop singing the blues for me,  I promise I'll stop blaming you for my river of tears. When I was younger my father taught me that "pain only builds character", and so I will take all **** that you've put me through and paint it a nice gold. To be fair, I must commend you for a valuable lesson I've learnt:
******* do come packaged quite nicely don't you think?

P.S I would really like my running shoes back.

Yours,

Why is it we're always
Surrounded by water?
Birth
Struggle
Cleansing
Drowning
Lost.

What makes water
A universal dissolver?
What changes when we submerge
And when we float?
What makes water
Both a healer and a
Suffocator?
Like two sides of a coin
It spins and it spins...

Hate is passionate.
When love turns to hate
you still possess their heart like a flame
they grudgingly surrender to your inseparable grip
they burn all night and day.
Indifference is colder.
When love freezes in the vein
they carelessly turn away
you die a death inside their forgetful minds
when the love drains out of their gaze
The warmth you once drew from them,
gasps for breath as the frost invades.
But the worst is yet to come, my dear
it's when your loved one fears when they have you near
When they recoil at the mention of your name
when they shrivel beneath your love and it's weight
when they wear your presence like a crippling chain
when they run away just to remain sane
The worst is when you're poison in their lips
never to loathe, but a woe to be eclipsed
The worst is when you're the suffocator of their breast
in whom your loved one can never find rest.

Oh, warm bed;
     most murderous depredator
of midnight reverie

Suffocator of thoughts,
Stifler of desires,
                desires for fervor
Sufficed by lukewarm
                                        blankets
    
“Frozen feet far take your mind!”

If these bedclothes
                       were not my socks, my coffin