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chitragupta Feb 2019
Now that
I have
learnt my place
It is time
To teach
Them theirs
I finally feel what I've been trying to feel.
This makes things easier.
This moment. Is the point of inflection.
chitragupta Feb 2019
I know
You need just
A shoulder to cry on

And I am
Sorry I am not
Obliged

Mine
Are already
Burdened enough

From
Paying homage
To your shrine


Today you may see
Fire,
And smoke,
And ashes galore

But know this;
When they clear
I will be
Here no more
Sometimes it's best to walk away without a goodbye.
Marie Dec 2018
And then she realised that
All stories die with the people who made them...

What a devastating truth to know that so many wonderful stories lie between the dust of had-been peoples.
Sophie Dec 2018
There is no great mystery to life.
We do not all have some greater purpose
Or some all important place in this world.
Some of us are just here.

This huge pressure of making a difference,
The gnawing need to make an impact,
To not be forgotten when we turn to dust
Is an all consuming anxiety

There is no riddle to the beating of your heart,
No conspiracy to the air in your lungs,
You are breathing, your heart is beating, and you exist.
Sometimes that is all there is to it

We are not all destined for greatness
And the realisation that we are one of the many,
Is more horrifying than any else.
Munia Islam Oct 2018
It's starting to make much more sense now.

All the songs you sent at 1 am, the ones I never even bothered opening because I was too busy.

Your obsession with art that portrayed nothing but death and destruction.

Your jokes about killing yourself that we passed off as “ dark humour “.

You drifting away in your own world and us seeing that as just another one of your phases.

Your constant last minute change of plans and “ you guys go ahead. I don’t feel like it. “

All those times we asked you how you were and all those curt ‘I am fine’s that never made us ask further.

It all makes much more sense now.

Now that you’re gone.  

(M.I.)
Michael Oct 2018
We fight with all we have,
We lose the things that we never had.
Life is one submission after another,
We aim for one, but achieve the other.
We are all here standing,
Ready to take our number,
Completely unaware the we are all going under.
The will to fight is nothing but illusion,
The want to continue is born of confusion.
We all stand strong,
Yet in the end we fold.
We all talk a big talk,
But only our words are bold.
We can give up now,
And be forever content.
Or we can continue,
And be further broken and bent.
Are we broken, or are we beaten? Or are we really never the champion to begin with?
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