The juxtaposition betwixt
Hope & agony is often sharp,
Short but sudden.
Yet, is pain not longer suffered
All the times worse?
And of the flames snuffed?
Is this not the worst?
Of our fatigues,
They are addressed only in comfort,
Dressed by the garbs of one who understands
Our needs for medicine.
For the soul downtrodden
And the body corrupted,
As healers or like doctors,
Those whom we love enough to be as companions.
For the best remedy of any wound is care,
Borne out of love & not necessity
But because they wish to be there.

Crying *****
but waiting to cry is the worse
my eyes will water up so quickly
and my mind will force me to wait
till my tears pour down my face
it’s like when you’re a little kid
and you’re watching the bubbles
rising up from the bathtub
and you’re just waiting for the bubbles to hit your chin and pop
But now when I try to contain myself
hold in my tears so they won’t explode
I can feel the tears wrapping around my lungs
while and strangling my throat tightly enough
so I can’t gasp for air
and even if I were to hold them in
for the entire day
When I finally reach to my bed
the tears will flow down my pillow
down to my bed sheets
then it’ll reach the floor
and my tears will fill up my room
slowly until it reaches my chin
but there is no bubbles when it happens
so I won’t hear a pop sound
but the sound of agony will echo
around my room
like a drained symphony

The worst part of crying in your bed
is not waking up seeing tears stains on your newly soaked up pillow
but rather going to the nearest mirror
and seeing tear burns appear again
when you thought they were gone for good

Today, I dared to set my foot upon the world's stage.
And the sunlight rushed forth, blinding my sight in boundless radiance.
A strange sight unfolded before me, a world bathed in a ghostly, whitish hue.
Oh, how my eyes endured the agonizing throes of reality;
Their gaze so deeply enamoured by the allure of darkness,
Wept for the embrace of comforting shadows.
My skin burned with an unearthly fervour,
As if I had been whisked away to the fiery depths of infernal hell.
I retraced my steps in haste, falling into the arms of a formidable beast,
Enshrouded boldly in his wily grin of triumph,
As though his feast had willingly surrendered itself to his grasp.
I had always been destined to be ensnared within the web of hopelessness,
Like a fragile moth drawn inexorably to the relentless flame of its existence.
For this monstrous entity has divested me of strength, cradling me through endless day and night,
While feasting upon my very soul beneath the soothing veil of shadows.
I dwelt in such delusion, losing sight of the truth that the sun has long forsaken my sky.
Must I wait for this fear to gobble me up and let me vanish into the oblivion?
Or dare once more to descend into the radiant expanse of the unfamiliar,
Where the light of hope may still be flickering, beckoning for my return?

I dare not to unveil the sins to the world that are buried deep within me.
Standing beneath the falling leaves, I often ask myself: Who, in truth, am I?
On certain days, I discover strange solace within my intricate illusions,
Where I wield the spectre’s blade, tormenting those who’ve wounded my soul.
An eerie smile dances upon my visage as I behold their blood upon my hands.
Fear constricts my very bones as the darkness within me stretches far and wide,
Whilst I am still oblivious to the hour and place where it will finally end.
Sanity bade me its final goodbye when I bled and was abandoned to a merciless death.
My world is now confined to black and white, for all the colours have washed out of my eyes.
To the heavens, I beseech for freedom’s grace,
Yet, how can I trade my soul for such release, when its essence holds no worth?
There was a time when I stood as a valiant warrior, bold and proud.
But now, I fear, I have taken on the character of a villain within my own tale.
My innocence is now shrouded in the murky attire of vengeance and jealousy.
The colour of my heart has darkened and is now a shade of midnight,
I can witness monstrous entities breaching the gates of my world,
So with their sinister alliance, I am sculpting my world into my own private hell.

Have I, perchance, metamorphosed into a devil?
Or do I wade in the slow currents of transformation, inching towards such darkness?
This change of my soul haunts me, casts doubt upon my existence as a being of flesh and bone.
For within, I sense no pain, no guilt, nor remorse,
When my tongue wields daggers of impudence, my words crude and abusive.
Verily, I long for these mortal shells to retreat from my presence,
To keep their distance as one would from a plague.
Is this the aftermath, then, of betrayal, a betrayal wrought by hands I once trusted?
This world, inhabited by insolent beings, claims existence as complex and full of agony.
Yet, how cunning are they, to hide their sins,
Masking the slaughter of innocence in souls beneath the veil of life’s curse,
And adorning their graveyards by weaving tales of love and tragedy in the deepest crimson ink.
Numbness enshrouds my entire flesh,
And I long for the piercing wail of these desensitizing emotions to tear my chest,
Even at the cost of my annihilation.
For I do not wish to be alive anymore because life has forsaken me eons ago.
I am now cursed, my neck bound by the serpent of coldness, its venom coursing through my veins.
Blisters mar my fingertips, and the bones of my spine ache as I hunch over my weathered quill,
Penning countless verses
In search of the tattered shreds of my sanity amid commas and colons that may yet remain within.
But each prose’s end becomes a question, inquiring the purpose of my continued breath,
Punctuating my verse with a query rather than an end.
How shameless of me to craft fireworks of art from the agony inflicted by these mortals!
Oh, I beseech the heavens for the liberation of my soul from this earthly vessel,
To journey far from this realm of demons disguised as men.

My skin trembles with pleasure and pain—pleasure in every tender way you loved me, yet torn by the agony in the way you unraveled me.