NAMANNAGARHERE
            -----------------------------------
Empty Residence Of Aforementioned Angel In Training
How wonderful it is, I say, to the retreating
yellow form of your feelings I mistook
For Infatuation, you’re a romance heckler
far and far away from
Accepting fruition within classrooms and
being labelled as an angel.
And it was within forbidden hell of
euphoria, I found
You nestled in the society’s psyche
neither content or calling
For help. Neither did you neglect the
pink spectacles of the society,
Even found yourself moulding and moulding
into a fungi green
That I could not recognize, within that
half-sanctum, half-oasis I found you
absentmindedly
Bathing in, you were already out of
its waters.
And I was no longer seeing you within
the dry desert or the sibilance
of my desires, but instead
in cement woodlands and
Within artificial communication and
Intimacy I gave willingly.
Now how does it feel, to have your
heart in one piece,
How does it feel to not use
whipped cream to fill in the
Cracked, salty sections of your
own ***** that,
Out of confusion, continues to
play its favorite song but
in all the wrong beats.
Somehow within cacophony I found
you, nestled, comfortable in
Bogus, fraudulent wings of a former
angel- who now weeps under our
Feet in theory- Somehow, somewhere,
I lost you within an epiphany
That reeked of bliss and pleasure-
Somehow, we end up losing
Twins of the heavens when all is well.
How wonderful.
How wonderful it is, I say, to your
lost, secretly-weeping figure
That I can’t tell whether transparent or
yellow your figure is.
But I keep speaking-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To love the first angel I’ve set
my eyes upon-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To lose an angel, no matter how
phoney, to a social heaven.”

✍

a spokesperson of history and
their own language

an adventurer who dare to brave the
unknown jungles and uncharted temples

a student who starts from nothing
and grows by learning more

a listener who can hear and hone
the sound of their own prose

a lover who always leaves their
mark on ****** papers

a waterbearer who pours their soul to make
readers see and feel the beauty of the ripple

one soul that can and will write
their way into multiple lives

a warrior who fights to conquer
their greatest enemy, self-doubt

a drinker who wishes to
forget reality

a crafter who hears, sees, sniffs, feels
and thinks through their fingers

a sadist who loves to whip their
readers with twists, turns, pain and agony

a ******* who revels in the beautiful
agony of words, drafts and revisions

The writer's language is all that and more
It can bring as much agony as well as galore
And a special few truly understand that
the writer's language is anything but bland

The writer's language

The Writer's Language

It truly is second to none

✍

i remember when we met, we clicked instantly
i still remember how much you meant to me

i remember feeling whole in your arms
like not even a meteor could keep us apart

i remember when you told me you had been cheating
and how i begged for you to stay

you were the first person to ever make me feel worth something
and then you took my imaginary worth away

i remember when you told me you loved me,
and then told me you didnt actually mean it

i remember all the people ive left,
just because they werent you

i remember their words, in pain as i left
but all i can remember is the love i felt for you

ill never love anyone like i loved you
so why should i love?

its been 3 years
i know you dont care
i know all this is just wasted air
youll brush this to the side
just like how you did me
but i loved you
with a love that was so rare
one that no one else will ever experience
because how could i ever love anyone
like i loved you