in the tsunami of self loathing,
i am not going to swim,
i am sitting numb,
staring at the walls,
questioning myself,
why am i this way?
why can't i be what they want me to be?
why can't i?
i hear the waves of ocean of detestation,
crashing on my mind,
destructing my trueself,
shaking the buildings of my self confidence,
i can feel the water filled inside my lungs,
and this time,
i am not swimming,
i am not trying to save myself,
i am drowning,
and i don't want anyone,
to save me from drowning,
coz i know,
they can save me from demons,
but no one can save me from myself....

Stubborn and cross,
Gross, and seldom lost.
Thank you for holding my hand,
On New Years.
I guess it meant a lot to me.

You’re writings have been an inspiration,
Much so that I feel like I won’t have a dream of my own.
I would follow yours to the end of the earth though,
Because much like you I
I am awfully beautiful,
Stubborn, and cross
Gross, and mostly lost.

Even today
I can feel
Your smell,
Your warmth presence
Around me.
The way
You used to comfort me
Behold me,
Handle me.
Which now seems
Completely unreal.
It constantly feels
Like you’re
with me.
Sitting on that
Same couch
Where we used to chat
For all the day long.
And
Watching together
Our favourite sitcom.
I perpetually feel
You’re calling me.
In the same phone
We used to speak
For hours and hours.
By blushing,
And Laughing.
I still feel like
We’re hanging out
With each other
In the same place
Where we first met.
The fragrance
Of which
Still lies in my nostrils.
And
I feel like
An absolute fool
Whenever I cogitate
About us.
I wish
We had more
To hash out
Our thoughts.  
But
You never turned back
Not even once
When you left.
So how am I supposed to bring you back in the same life where we once used to carve our own little stories?

lips that once used to smile,
have started to abuse,
eyes that once used to shine,
are now busy in crying,
hands that once used to paint,
have started writing,
mouth that once used to sing,
has now,
started reciting poetry,
loving the wrong person,
taught her so much new..........

See!
The eye can't see itself.
But it can
see.

Can a broken heart,
be compared to a lily field,
where every stem a sword it wields,
their smiles sweet, their words bitter?

Can aching feet,
be compared to footprints in the sand,
from days of old and days of man,
where journeys traveled over yonder?

Can a hoarse voice,
be compared to howls of dark wolves,
cinnamon tasteless and not of cloves,
when taste buds are uselessly used?

Can red dry eyes,
be compared to blazing suns,
ones that do not walk, but do not run,
and never fly faster than the wind?

Can a senseless poem,
be compared to fickle hearts,
where it depends on a person's part
in their imagination?