A photo
Just a photo
From long ago
Still,
It feels brand new



The regrets are tormenting with regression and memory loss. It hurts like it’s brand new especially with the flashbacks and PTSD.

I often talk to myself,
Asking, screaming y I am the way I am?
Questioning every prayer ever made and Thoughts ever occurred,
And then there comes a point,
Where the decision of ending it all seems the best,
But never found the courage to do so,
I hate myself for making me believe that I am worst thing other person can ever experience,
But I love myself for being able to survive through all of it alone,
I hate myself for all those bad decisions,
But I love myself for holding on to me when no one else did,
I hate myself for being reckless,
But I also love that part of me,
Because I know if I had never hated myself
I would have never known how much I love myself

You were the cement boots around
my ankles and I would sink beneath
your gaze screaming as I sank to the
                                                  bottom.

I saw the others the ones who failed
your questioning, your mind games
of unconscious action and reaction.

But with me, I screamed in laughter,
as I knew that you'd always let me
drown enough to be conscious of
                       your ever-changing needs.

We were the lime and the sand,
our words the water that would be
mixed together. We would be concrete
           metaphors of each other's needs..

And I found it slightly ***** when you
tried to metaphorically drown me in
                                       your mind.
I always learnt some depth to you the
                         longer you let me drown.

Careful dance
Under the rain
Only for once
Hiding the pain
Shoes on the damp
Innocent road
Glowing street lamps
It's sleeting and cold
Dust settled down
They've survived
Lucky to 've found
Each other's lives
Starting anew
Hoping for more –
They are the few
Who made it through war

don't worry about fate darling,
even if she got it bad for you
don't worry about things breaking,
even if I'm not there to fix it for you
for even fate follows her foreseen immutable road,
while you push on looking for some inviolate abode.

On every alluring  mountain peek
where the soil has buried it deep
there is a heart somewhere up there
hiding from everyone's reach
the rubble the rock the rugged roads
the cliffs the falls the thorns
the height the struggle the effort
differs from one to another
from bumps to dunes to spires
the struggle doth differ much
but if the climbers mind sees no other peek
then for sure your heart will be found.