Know that I have suffered,
In this world full of evil,
Life is the name of suffering,
Living is so very hard.

Mighty troubles inflict me,
Efforts to drown me down.

Writing sad poems is easy.
My HP Poem #1631
©Atul Kaushal

If a bullet through my brain
Could end all my pain
Without killing me outright
I would do it in a heartbeat

my poetic thoughts at 1am

No lookback
No comeback
No rollback
is
possible.
Only
flashback
of
"U"
is
killing
now
.....

I watch him sprint as fast as he can
across the tar road
right after dropping his black pistol
that’s just released a bullet that’s hit my stomach
The smell of death suffocates me,
it whispers all the things
I’ll be leaving behind on this earth

I look own at the newly created blood river
that my stomach has just released,
it tickles down my skin
As the warm liquid flows out
a tear escapes my eye
and runs down my cheek
like a raindrop on a window
I tell myself that this is the end
Thoughts race through my mind
about how I’ve lived
and whether I’m going to heaven or hell
or if I should start believing in reincarnation
before it’s too late
I’m going AWOL on everyone

The air is thickening and my chest is weakening
My knees tremble as my hands and feet get numb
My lips slowly turn purple desperately wanting to be violet
As my thoughts twist,
a psychedelic knife stabs
through my chest causing impact
My eyes shut in pain like the effect of a car accident;
quick and sudden yet unexpected
My mind and heart synchronise a stop
having it be the end of me
I lie there lifeless
I’m going AWOL on everyone

AWOL:
Absent WithOut Leave.

Your mouth is full of endless butterflies
Your lungs are full of roses
Your eyes hide the city of Atlantis in their depths
Your hair is loosely woven silk
Your skin is unblemished porcelain

Or so I thought

Your mouth spews hornets, wasps, and bees
You cough up thorns and brambles
Your pupils are slits, irises bleeding red
Your hair is rope, tangled into nooses
Your broken porcelain cuts open my chest

You were so beautiful
You were so kind
Your whispers were magical chants into my ears
But then you tried to kill me with your words

Beauty is pain for the eye of the beholder

Met,
Debt.

Fret,
Sweat.

Threat,
Pled.

Bed,
Red.

Bled,
Dead.

A story about a man in debt getting murdered by the shark loan in his tiny apartment.

Wipe away my memory
like I was never there.
Rip away the walls around my heart,
until the flesh is bare.

Kill me till I
bleed to death
Cry for me in despair.
Search for me in your memories,
when I was never there.

You will cross that threshold my dear
of death, a pond so shallow
I shall be waiting for you my dear
over at the deathly Hallows

I ain't the type of American|
You'd want to get the know.
I'm the type of American
Who will steal your soul.
I'm not the type of  American
Who will cure your ills.
I'll hook you on Drugs
And sell you the pills!

Britney Lyn Jun 21

I want people to know I'm suicidal.
I don't want to talk about it. I don't want people to tell me it gets better or to get over it.
I just want people to know because maybe taking that weight off my chest will finally allow me to breathe a little. Maybe people will be kinder.
I want people to know I'm suicidal because I want to be honest.
I want people to know that when I wake up tomorrow, I barely survived yesterday.
I want everyone to know that I want to kill myself because when I finally do, I don't want people to think that I was happy, that I had a good life.
I want people to see the deep ugly shit I push down each day, the thoughts that literally eat me alive and push me to the edge.
I want people to know that when I'm in the bathtub I hold myself under until  all my air runs out.
I want people to know when I'm opening cardboard boxes at work with the box cutter I think about sliding it down my wrists.
I want people to know when I get in my car and the road goes two ways or into the lake I want to choose the lake.
I want people to know when I go to sleep at night I resist the urge to down all the pills in my house.
I want people to know that I want to break my mirrors and slit my throat with the shards.
I want people to know I'm suicidal.
And it's fucking killing me.

I'm not the happy girl you think I am.

Northern part of my India,
It is worse when it is cold.

Far worse in winters,
Than in summers.

Many people freeze to death.

My HP Poem #1591
©Atul Kaushal
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