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Do you tell me you love me with sincerity
Or is it out of guilt
Or is it out of pity

The scariest thing about life is never knowing who's saying those three cursed words
And who genuinely means it
Satvik gupta Oct 8
Sometimes you fail in your life
the door shuts , the curtain falls ,  the wind freezes , the water stop altering in different containers . Everything just ends , a complete state of stillness , nothing but just you and your loneliness.
Out of nowhere you start to realize about ,your mistakes , your deeds , your acts , etc etc. Everything clings your hands and u just want to vanish your existence from here but that too is unavailable for the moment . Nothing works , then , then u start hating yourself , your dilemma grows and screams in each and every cell of your body .  Negativity , Negativity , Negativity

Even though you try to stop this but your efforts become futile . You realize your nature , your feelings , your burns , your stitches , your despairs ,yours regrets , your failures , and what else not !
Flow of sand siezes in your hourglass , you are left alone , no-one is around except your new friend ,loneliness.

The last leaf of your plant welts like your dreary face . You fall apart ,you wither ,  your growth stops .  
But you know what ,  "Mistakes are like gravity , always keeps you down " but up to some extent after that it converts to "FAILURE"

We just need to realize that level  ,  but it ain't that easy my friend.

Sleeping with regrets daily ,
Even I will have a bright future ,
maybe .
estie wari Oct 8
i often wonder;
how lives the poor man.
i noticed him there
by the bridge.

his skin was burnt
by the coarse light of the day;
i gaped as he stood there
in a ragged attire.
i know im not to judge,
but he didnt look too decent.

now, he walked away with his dish.
a coin or two,
he'd receive
if the bountiful felt pity.

i often wonder,
how strives that poor man by the bridge.
Queen Antonym of Superficial,
I wish the pseudonym of your official
name was just your name.
Your anonymity is so much more to pity,
as your antonyms
are only pretty,
and their anonymity is in their substance.
Mansi Sep 24
I am learning that self-pity
Is a dangerous thing
That must never
Be allowed into your mind

It might be comforting
In an unusual way
But in reality
It's slowly poisoning
Your mind
Alex Aug 6
Nothing is  sadder than a party,
Than the party itself,
Party is the corner side of the room,
Drinking a half empty *****, cause you know you don't want to stay long,
But you like drinking it,
It just not around empty faces, fake persona, and a ghost from your past.
Its an awkward smilling attached to a sofa,
Cause everytime you wondering how you are wasting your time,
To stare at walls, strangers falling inlove, you just watch there,
It feels like people invited you in pity just because they know you,
Just because you are engaged to them in a small talk,
You thought they were your friends,
So you just sit there just a proof you showed up,
To have some dencency to a person who invites you,
But imagine being in a room full of crowds,
With no one to talk about...
Cause  you are a stranger to them...
And a party isn't just about loud music, make out sessions, or dares,
It is pretending  to look busy at your phone,
Or act like my mom called me,
'I have to go home, its an emergency'
And it always ends up at goodbyes,
'And i hate to end this way but i have to go'
They always accept it,
Maybe they thought it was a valid reason,
Even if i lied...
Or maybe they just hated me at all,
All along besides of hip hop songs played by the dj,
I heard mumbles, inaudible words, and laughs,
Maybe i am delusional,
Or maybe they talk behind me,
How awful i am,
Or how they hate me being there,
After all it always what i expected,
Alone, Sad, Awful,
And makes me wanna go to my bed,
Just to cry...
Gunnika Mehra Jul 29
I feel like crying
But not in front of even a single soul.
I don't need people to tell me it's okay,
Instead I want  ‘me’ to make ‘myself’ whole.

I don't want a thousand glares of pity at my tears,
I don't need empty words thrown in the air.
All I need today is a smile,
A flower blooming from inside.
Sydney Jul 27
Do you think I'm broken?
'Cause I can't tell anymore.
My smiles aren't mine;
And I can't tell anyone
Because they'll only pity me,
Or take it too personally.
But it's not about you
It's about me.
Maybe I am broken,
My mind,
My heart,
My head.
My happiness is a lie
Because I'm broken.
mothwasher Jul 16
I am a French horn, a bottle neckless hourglass and butterscotch tape

You're a red harp with veins painted on the side

When I come home, you see me as an acrylic heap with chips of lead and belly aching homing words

Scotch sticks and smoke smells and the stitches are uncomfortable on my neck where you often warm your hands

I am a masquerade of shellfish clamoring on about the epitome of burlesque humor

You’re alien to anything other than sourdough and design

I have structured my thesis around burlesque and you fail to see the humor

When I fear the apologists

You fear the escapists

I am the tigers of the world, borrowing viciousness

You’re a long pause, loved and disquieted, painting my stripes as veins

I’m freaked out now because the apologists are escaping and the escapists are apologizing

At this clear impasse, you pity and press on until my fingers at the French horn drain to my sides

I am an island in a puddle of sand
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