𝙄 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧,
𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙜𝙤, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙨,
𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙮,
𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙢 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡, 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙛 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧.
𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙬 𝙤𝙡𝙙,
𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙝𝙪𝙢 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨
𝙬𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙨,
𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧
𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨,
𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣,
𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙢𝙪𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙡𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣,
𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙩 𝙤𝙛.
𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚.

Hello Poetry
I've been away
But I am back
With more musings in my head

I find myself chasing highs only to jump from them. But no, I am no comet. I am just a girl — all sunset eyes and gasoline. All dust grain and stale cigarettes. Shaky lips and broken mugs. Broken matches. Scissors running over my skin. Is it so bad then — wishing for my bones to finally break this time?

I find myself chasing highs only to jump from them, so save my poems and all my tales. Save me the apologies I cannot say. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry.

"It's not enough."

"No, it's not. It's okay."

Save me the apologies I cannot say.

And once more, I find myself chasing highs only to jump from them. And this time, darling, there is no way to survive the fall.

I fear not the day
I will cease to exist
For I know, that day,
You will think about me
Once, or twice.

What scares me most
Is the day
I will exist everywhere,
But in your
Heart and mind.

Existence, consciousness ..

who are we and what do we do ..
A puff out .. a drag of cold air, racing .. racing .. head full of existential thoughts  . ..
Living, a wine glass .. a shot of warmth down my throat  . . Emotions these running flow of consciousness .. why do I think it all ?

Lying, in the dark .. an athem of sort, in silence reforms .. ideas and lack of them .. and thoughts, a void is born !

Internalising emotions .. finding my thoughts so alive in this darkness  ..
Hurriedly may I pass away to a lack of form ..

Insanity .. beckons me .. and what more can I do but nod .. meaning, I seek meaning. And not an iota of cognition is ever got.

Tired, I am tired of life as I know it, the bones ache, the thoughts become nonsensical and we deliver as we are meant to .. not very sure, not very sound .. in the air . . drifting slowly, and surely .. towards an end.

What is this eternal rack of hell that we are accustomed to... What is this longing for something that has passed us far by .. who am I even, floating aimless .. who are we, under our skin tight hides.

Disaster in the waiting, a last beacon calls to the inward eye .. and I see, albeit shrouded in dark .. nothing. Alas, no meaning.. an absurd, surreal delusion called Life.

I have always felt so small ..
A ignoble blob of mass produced ****
An unstriking felt of ignoreable mass
And a unloving yet existing demonicon

What is this being that within me resides
This parenchymatous growth of emotions
This feeling, perceiving but never believing
Mass of substance that I am, that I may be
Or may be not.

Just a small nothingness of some being
Incapable of making it out intoto

Small, meek, not dangerous piece of nothing.

What shall it matter if I lose my form?

What shall it matter if I lose myself ?

Death, disintegration, entropy !!

Whichever word may you give it,
nothing does ever matter in the end
nothing ever comes right off it ..

Nothing, and then black.

Pitch. Dark. Bleakness.

i had missed too many sunsets hurting in silence. to this day, the sky is in a graying shade of blue. to this day, it is mournful and decaying over me — or inside me, i do not know. i had lost count of the months i shunned the sunsets and headed straight — disgracefully, to the arms of the dusk. besides, falling apart looked harsher, and messier, and more vivid in the light. and so i had missed too many sunsets; this too, is becoming a wound.

i wish i were kinder to myself.

i wish i could forgive myself.