Shambhavi: Favorites

Too much

Apr 24 Shambhavi

Rain

Too much

Life feels too heavy.
Too many worries.
Too many pressures.
Too many responsibilities.
Too many hardships.
Pain.
Despair.
Hope turns to despair.
Happiness turns to numbness.
Calmness turns to pain.

Too fast.
So bleed.
Bleed.
Bleed.
Till everything is silent.
But it’s not silent.
It’s not working.
Making me panic.
Why isn’t it working?

#cutting #self #harm #depression #overwhelmed

Apr 22 Shambhavi

Mysterons

Apr 22 Shambhavi

Carlo C Gomez

Mysterons

A bit of Black.
A piece of Scarlet.
There's no turning back.
When I place my rings upon you
nothing is beyond my grasp.
Each rotate to become the main body of it.
In place of angels
the hand of friendship
forms a pattern on the wall.
It's there to remind us
we're all sitting targets.

#literature #fiction #mind #control #symbolism

Apr 22 Shambhavi

TRACE MY SPINE

Apr 22 Shambhavi

Maria Etre

TRACE MY SPINE

The kind of lines
I like to write
are ones
your body
feels

#spine #feels #emotions

Apr 22 Shambhavi

Pretence

Apr 22 Shambhavi

Sarita Aditya Verma

Pretence

I have always had an aversion to it
I would blurt out the worst
If you would show me pretence
Of care
Of love
Of togetherness
Of being one
No no don’t do that
I am old now
Enough to understand
Pretence
I won’t blurt out things
I wouldn’t put up to it
My duties fulfilled
There I am done
Now I know
Pretence

For the simple reason - how they make you feel

Apr 22 Shambhavi

Strange Spirit

Apr 22 Shambhavi

The Wilted Witch

Strange Spirit

This strange soul calls to mine,
Alluring, fascinating, vexing.
This strange pull, as a rapid wind,
Somehow pushing, still pulling, and taxing.

Strange spirit speaks a foreign tongue.
I speak with no tongue at all.
I would give my soul, my heart, a lung
To stop its decay. Here leaves in fall.

Strange spirit presses soft, then firm.
My spirit falters often.
Strange spirit ever lives and learns,
Cradle, sky, to coffin.

A feeling of something walking on the wind. Maybe there’s something calling out. It fades, and flounders. It buds, and builds. It overwhelms and cannot leave. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was me.