If I am not rage, then what am I?

I tried love, trust, patience, empathy

They were accepted out of courtesy

But discarded like an inconvenience

If I am not anger, then what am I?

I tried so very hard, so much time

Just to receive little effort and no time

Just to be abandoned and misled

If I am not anger, nor am I rage itself

Then I am the pain you gave to me

You stood beneath the station light,
the kind that softens into blue.
Your hair was damp from rising rain,
your hands unsure of what to do.

I watched you move but not let go,
a breath away, yet far from home.
There’s something cruel in parting slow—
we lost the words, we left alone.

The train exhaled, the silence stayed,
You turned your face, but you never waved.

I feel Hollow.
Barren.
Empty.

That hollowness erodes my body,
leaving a trail of decay.
Cracks crawl through my brittle bones,
shattering my skull,
fragmenting my thoughts.

A carmine-colored river floods into my caving lungs,
before dragging itself up my throat.
The metallic taste slowly overwhelms my mouth,
and seeps through my gapped teeth.
My glass smile falls and shatters.

Terror grips what was once my voice,
holding sound captive-
my call for help erased by despair.
Only strangled sobs exist.
I'm left choking on my own life force.

Each sob collects upon my face;
a veil of tears cover my broken visage.
Shrouding me from prying eyes that encompass judgemental gazes.

Without even seeing,
their stares spear my soul and blacken my heart.
The forgotten, grayed ash
smothers out all that remains.

My rotted husk: a void, a dismal skeleton.
A vast emptiness that nothing can fill.

Broken.
Decayed.
Hollow.

It's what I am.

I am not broken; the world is.
Every day, it’s a new trend, whether worthless or rich,
Whether Black or white, dull or bright.
Every day is a new battle, a storm in a sea of dreams.
Dreams which get lost among the crowd of mindless bees.

The unfortunate truth is, the world favours aesthetics.
Whether in your work or in your deary beak.
Each day it’s a new goal, whether money, happiness, or ******,
But I ask, where is the genuine, the giddy, and the fulfilled?
Lost in the wildfire of fleeting faces and smoke-choked dreams?

Where are the joyful, the dreamers, and the poets?
Lost in the world of the weary, the cynic, and the skeptics?
But finally, I see the truth, the infallible truth—
Hidden behind the layers, lies, buzz, and noise,
That I am not broken; the world is.

when people see a person hurting
they seldom try to ease their pain
they make jeering remarks
and take their own digs and hits
for no one notices
if a bleeding person coughs up blood
those silent souls, drift alone in the dark.

if only hearts could learn to mend,
hold the broken, be the friend.

I’ll give you my heart
Even if I don’t have yours

It’s good to sacrifice for the ones you love
Please be careful with it

It’s fragile
Really really fragile

And every minute you spend mad
It cracks exponentially

Life on lie, I couldn't even die.
Is she yours… or mine?
I do… do I comply?
Should I just die?

Why would you fight, when you're not mine?
Did I do right?
Do I get a chance to prove I’m right?

I didn’t commit the sins
It was indeed him.

The smile that lies on something that is a lie,
The evil in his eyes that made me cry.