there's an anchor weighing me down.
it won't let me change the course,
but it also won't let me drown.
it makes sure that the water stagnates
as rust compromises the fuel tanks.
losing buoyancy at a rising rate,
somehow staying afloat just to spite me.
i should find the leak and ignite it,
i should let someone else decide now,
but i've been patching holes in the hull.
some would call it a waste of time,
i guess i'm not ready to drown yet.

I am a bit unlucky
Yes, not always can everybody be lucky
But misfortune has befallen me many a time
My marriage was a ball of slime
I have lost a few friends
Though my behaviour towards them was almost blameless
Many a time, I get credit not
Even if my work is nearly perfect
Due to my Asperger's Syndrome
I do not feel at home
During many a social interaction
Really, do I do my best, to make a good conversation
However, mistakes are inevitable
Because, perfection is impossible
My ignorance is not my fault
It is God's fault
Definitely, do I need some compensation
For each and every misfortune of mine
Struggling am I, to find love
Though there is a lot, that I can give
Being a divorced male is a big curse
In a society that has a huge bias
Against anyone who is "different"
However, I will fight
To overcome all my insecurities
And drive away all my demons
But I certainly need some luck
Otherwise, life will remain dark
Yes, I am a bit unlucky for sure
However, I will try my best to ensure
That this does not remain the case
Wrong, will I prove all my doubters
Rise will I, against all odds
For now, am I overthinking
But soon, will I be planning
To rise from the ashes, like a true phoenix
Yes, not at all easy, is achieving success
However, as mentioned earlier
I am a fighter
And soon, will the fight begin
For now though, I am alone
Again, I am a bit unlucky
But soon, will I be lucky!

there's no crime that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.
if you've something to say against it,
then you're plotting an insurrection.
then no matter how loud you're screaming
at those giving their lives to get drafted,
you're a traitor that stands on the front lines
while the patriots watch from a distance.
every word can be framed as a slogan,
every question's a sign of resistance.
as the crowd splits in different directions,
there's no evil that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.

What can I say the thoughts are thawed away
lingering mistakes.  

burns my heart  
falling apart  
okay  
blame me  misfortunes  

Hold my weight
Steal my back  
Waiting for everything

"If I offer myself as token, I stay comfortably broken"
I thought it make it more direct while adding some imagery to self reflect

every word i ever wrote is for you,
every breath i ever took is for you.
you're the version of me that lives on in my head,
kept alive by the lives that i haven't lived.
you're the reason why i'm still here.
i'm afraid,
i'm afraid of the stillness that captures the thoughts
and refuses to give them back.
there you are.
all these years between us, but there you are.
there i am, all alone, cold and terrified
of the day that will come, but i'm still here,
locked up in a room inside my mind.
you're alive, so alive despite everything,
and i owe you a second chance at life.
you're the reason why both of us aren't dead.
every breath i ever took is for you,
every word i ever wrote is for you.

The hill I will die on,
Is that most battlefields aren’t worth dying on.
Some people see a mob,
And grab their pitchforks and their torches,
Without even understanding,
What they’re fighting for.
Perhaps they love the bloodshed,
Perhaps they love the gore,
Perhaps they feel righteous indignation,
And are adamant to settle the score.
It could be some primal need to fight,
Or some could be sure that they’re right.
Either way, I don’t see the point,
I understand that sometimes a war is just,
Most times, it feels like a bust.
A waste of money,
A waste of time,
A waste of precious human lives.
All for what? Some measly land?
How greed corrupts the righteous hands.
So the hill I will die on,
Is that some battles aren’t worth fighting,
That they aren’t worth the pain.
The lives they ruin,
The families they break,
The friendships covered in contusions,
The human souls that are broken and bruised.
All for what?

Here I am in the jungle,
Eating blueberries and plant seeds,
But then the ground starts to rumble—
The sound of a hundred soldiers charging for me.

They come at me from all sides,
A hundred foreign objects storming my land.
A primal fear stirs inside,
But I cannot run; I must make my stand.

I roar like a strike of purple thunder—
The men don’t stop, unbothered by anything.
Did I make a mistake, a blunder?
I feel like a misunderstood king.

The men have stricken me down,
They cheer, reveling in the battle being won
I know in the eyes of my troop, I’ve lost my crown,
But it speaks volumes— a hundred needed to defeat one.

Oh how the saying makes me sick
And excuses, there are not
Devicive taunting, hate's mimic
Word's we weaponized from thought.
So, a new turn of phrase,
a saying born within the dark;
Is whispered to myself, alone,
                                                    A Sky-cyphers
Scribbled, trailing mark.
For the first and only time,
Not of me but you
These writing's wordings weave a web,
of synthesized virtue.
To be spoken allowed to oneself,
read, written or thought,
Of each word that's now misused- their purposes forgot.
examined, explained, investigated my life
As if speech were the blade, written words are the knife.

all of the meaning and
every mora, tethers to our mortal coil
Life and it's significance-
A product of its transience.

The concept of fate & of destiny, too
Both insinuate journey, the movement through
How, now, can our destinations insue
We'll come Home, its depths, are dreams of blue.


*between the church hymn
And under haiku
It is,
Ravled in deep bules