Everyone will eventually
fall
victim to some
addiction, and
I want to be the
ravenous hunger
in you
bones.

because that's exactly who you are, you'd crash your car and blame the road, hang yourself then blame the rope.


― victim complex

you cut the ties with silver scissors and burnt the bridge with fictitious fires but you still insist you're the one who fell and scraped your knees with ****** fists on broken glass and sharp white teeth.

things have changed and the past is dead. these bridges you burnt are not meant to mend.

give up. go away. that's it―
the end.


― you're not the victim, you never were

For the man has been changed,
dressing in a mirage and false attire
building a castle in his schizophrenic mind
for so long he guessed it was mist
his mind limboed by their words
'we are architects of the sand filled castle' they scream
they say he uses pity power,
so they tell him his pseudo-castle is bliss

For the man has been changed
the realisation is the ****** in his heart
he was right, their trust is a facade
they say he uses pity power
so they have to stay with him in the hard-times

For a time, I too thought my bed was laid,
unraveled the best wool for this bamboo sheets
all for me to realise that every utterance of love
that came from their lips
was but for them on a pressure cooker; making me the chef
though i took a journey, i started to understand they were never with me
they knock me off my perception stand
my candle light burning without light
though now they do not understand, for when they shall, standing not shall i be
for my heart has taken a bow

For a time, though i have sailed through them endlessly
and became an anaesthetic mind for their sake
for the man has been changed
though they say he uses pity power
this lego victim is the solitude man
and He's back.

I'm no victim,
only my own willingness to remain ignorant
and seek expression through physical pleasure.
I can only blame myself for not controlling what is my reality,
my body, thoughts and actions.
Here and now, I endorse all responsibility.

You dug your fingers into me,
For, I still feel your breath.
You wrapped your hands on my body,
For, I still feel your touch.
You made me your slave,
For, I still feel the pain.
You sabotaged my soul.
For, I still see the blood on my sheets.
Blood, the red syrup, which leaked
Until it choked my throat.
Blood, the tepid plasma, which spilled
Out like rotten water.
You filled my life with so much venom,
For, I still feel its poison in my mouth.
And just like that a lust filled animal, took the beam
From my existence.
-Khushi :)

I'm sorry this ever happened to you.
I'm sorry you were just an 8 year old, so full of life and you didn't deserve this pain.
I'm sorry those pedophilic pigs preyed on your innocence.
I'm sorry you were born in India- a country powered by people, pioneered by strong men of principles but still feel powerless to protect its own people.
I'm sorry our laws are enforced to protect the lawless.
I'm sorry there is a *****, so possessed by religion out there who passed a mean comment on you.
I'm sorry there are countless many who favors his opinion strongly.
I'm sorry none of us could protect you or bring you back to life.
I'm sorry that I can only hope hell does exist and those men do rot in its deepest pits.
I'm sorry all of us can only sympathize and none of us can empathize.
I'm sorry I have no voice of my own.
I'm sorry my child, I truly am because you were born a girl.
I'm sorry to say how lucky I feel to be alive, that my sister or mother or friends are unpolluted and still breathing just fine.
I'm sorry this poem is pointless as the many hashtags that come and go after each **** but I had to write this for my own peace of mind.
I'm sorry as I can only sit back and pray there won't be anymore Asifas.