shakespeare once said
“the world is a stage, and we as actors”
but we are not just actors, we
are also the scriptwriters
except things don’t always go as planned:
sometimes we don’t get our happily ever after
and sometimes we find ourselves
in a different dimension altogether where
all you know is pain not because
they decided to rewrite your favourite scene
but because they stole the oxygen from your lungs
as they punch a hole no one else but they can fill
and you are left
gasping for air you can never breathe
as long as they are gone
and you know that you will never be able to breathe again
but it does not stop you from
hoping,
yearning,
wanting
for that one day
when you are in their arms,
and you can finally
breathe again

we all have stories to tell:
our lives,
past, present and future are all
an elaborate book
of pain and suffering
we all have scars
some deeper and darker
than we would ever care to share
and so, often
we sit in pained silence as
people walked by,
seemingly oblivious to our pain
when really they are just engrossed
in their own

some fight for others,
who cannot fight for themselves
some fight for themselves,
for bright, shiny things like money and fame
some fight with honour,
believing deeply in friendship and loyalty
some fight *****,
unafraid to step on dead bodies if it means they can get what they want
some fight the darkness dwelling in their hearts,
because they are afraid the knife would hit the wrong(right) vein and
they would die in a ****** mess
some fight their own fears
by making risky decisions they never think twice about
some fight the time in their lives
by making the best out of what they have
they are always smiling

so when you said
'I've stopped fighting- I've given up'
you're wrong.
everyone is waging a war, fighting their own battles
it is also a struggle to quit

you were broken inside:
which was why you decided to play doctor that night.
you wanted to fix yourself.
with a bottle of pills as anaesthesia in one hand,
and a razor blade in another
that night was spent in a strange kind of ecstasy
when blade touches skin and blood trickles
you dissected your own heart,
wanting to understand
how something barely the size of your fist,
could keep you,
devoid of anything, alive
you didn't manage to find the answer that night
and fell asleep, failing to sew yourself back together
and each night you were plagued
by the viruses of pain and self hatred
and you were plunged into turmoil as
your immunity to the apathy of this world decrease
and on some nights,
you turn to that same bottle of pills or even a razor
when it hurts to even breathe because
your heart feels so heavy it's about to fall out of your chest
and on these nights,
you are driven to that rusty razor,
addicted to the strange ecstasy that comes from
blades touching skin, drawing red paint from your canvas of wrists
and on these nights,
you decide for yourself that
nothing could possibly be worth the pain
and your heart will remain forever
as a black rotting piece of flesh

see, even though on that night
all you wanted was to try and fix yourself
you ended up breaking yourself beyond repair

I fell in love
with the magic of stringing words into letters
and putting them on a piece of paper
I fell in love
with the blank between my words
that were not quite as empty as it seems
They were dark matter of feelings
that remain an enigma to me, until now
when words fail me, there were always the tiny blanks
that were not quite as tiny as they seem
they were nebulas of feelings
too complex to describe with just mere words
And though I may not be a poet,
I fell in love with spilling words on paper,
creating my own universe when
my voice failed me

I fell in love with the art of poetry

My councillor once told me
that living was just like walking
we learn to walk through life and sometimes
we accidentally knock into things

and some of us,
we might learn to avoid knocking into things
or grow stronger so we break whatever we knock
but some of us might continue tripping on rocks
and after knocking things,
over and over and over again,
we get tired of falling and scraping ourselves
and we find that we soon fall into despair

and maybe one day, some of us will learn
to break our obstacles or avoid them
but some of us?
they never get up.
some metaphorically, some literally.