So, this spider was crawling up the wall,
The wall, which had its cosmetics coming off.
The wall, which was mum.
It had seen much.
I was there, under this cursed ceiling fan,
Which was creaking monotonously.
The portraits and the tapestries,
With the rusted nails and hooks under.
The sedimentation of soot,
On the walls,
On the ceiling,
And on the pictures.
All silent,
Dead silent,
Except this cursed ceiling fan.
The ambience,
Was in its nothingness.
As if, they were looking at me in awe,
As if, I were a trespasser.
Unanticipated, I heard rumblings,
And chantings,
And phrases.
The wind in the room suddenly came to life.
The Air, spoke something into my ears,
Something unintelligible.
The frequency went up,
And up, and up.
Ultrasonic vibrations, were those.
The portraits glared at me,
I was becoming anxious,
As well as having eerie feels.
My eyes glued on something,
Something creepy.
I remember,
How four score and seven revolutions of this planet back,
My 16 year old friend had perished in this very room,
Under this very cursed ceiling fan.
Now, not everyone can live for a hundred and three years,
And remember an incident.
Oh, and yes, my eyes glued on my own portrait...

...We do exist,
We defy science.

I still walk

In the dark, accompanied by my shadow—
Mind is a pawn to something persistent and evil
He lingers in my head from dusk till dawn
Impossible to explain the portrait it had drawn.
So I gaze at the moon in hopes that I find peace
I count the twinkling stars to distract me from the joy I do miss
But sadness still overwhelms me—
Mistakes scarred me like my birthmark.
And still I remain Ignorant to whether the hexes they muttered still pursue me.

I am not living.
The only difference between me and the bodies in the grave is—

I still walk.

I told you before.
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
And I will write stories in between our thighs
about how you read me until the ******
just to leave you with a cliffhanger.
I will plot chapters on your tongue
Make sure I go in and out,
And all around.
I will make sure you remember that
I taste like fully fleshed out tragedies,
I will create pages out of
the way your eyes looked like at sunset
or the way you brushed your hands through my hair
then rip them all out.
I will tattoo letters on your skin,
I will make the words bleed out of your being
You will know how it feels to be broken into pieces,
and still be considered a masterpiece.
Because I told you didn’t I?
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
and I can love you too
and destroy you
all the same.

My light has to be hidden from each and every walk of life;
it is a target for the darkness and strong emotions of others that are rife.
My soul is too deep and fragile to be torn apart time and time again,
by impassioned people who end up causing unintentional pain.
I am crushed by the weight of the universe.
They say to be an empath is a gift - but to me it feels like a curse.

it used to be enough,
with the ones in the past,
to simply daydream.
poetry made me miss them less;
i could look at a picture,
listen to a song,
then suddenly feel at ease.
but this time,
it is both a blessing and a curse,
that i have someone in my life,
whose presence cannot be replaced,
by a song, or a poem, or a daydream.
it is a blessing indeed,
but a curse when we're apart.

when i was a little girl, i'd always dream of a happily ever after. i'd imagine myself as cinderella, with a perfect gown and shoes and hair, in a castle with a prince who loved me so dear.

it was cute, hoping that my fantasies would someday come true. but once upon a time, i grew up. i realized that there were no happily ever afters, and that life was just a constant battle with everyone around you. i thought about my gown, and how there'll always be a pull in the fabric somewhere; my shoes, how they'll eventually make my feet ache to an unbearable point; my hair, how its curls will fall when i dance; my castle, how its size will make me feel so lonely; and my prince, how he will inevitably leave me or hurt me or play me, or all of the above.

but you helped me see the light, my prince. you made me forget all the negativities of royalty. when i am with you, i am happy. and happiness is all i want, all i need. does that mean that all i need is you?

you made me forget that you were of royal blood, and i was not; that you never had to lift a finger, and i had to work night and day to simply survive; that you were loved and needed and sought after, and i was neglected and insignificant and never anyone's number one.

but what i thought to be amnesia for the better, wasn't, and like everything else, gave me a false sense of hope that life was beautiful. i pity noble and peasant girls when they think royalty is complete and utter bliss, for they are greatly misinformed. it is all a show, which, no matter how sadistic, deserves a standing ovation.

and sometimes i wish i were little me again, free of sadness and pain; clueless of the horrors of this world. but reality checks in and reminds me that there's no such thing as a rewind or a replay, and time will not stop or slow down or repeat itself. not for me at least.

give and take is what we know to be
the way to true happiness and peace
and we give and we give and we give
in the hopes that, from us
the rest of mankind will learn to do so too

but the world is a selfish place
filled with selfish people
who have selfish needs
and in the end
it is you who will learn from them