Thy creative mind is Divine.
It's winding paths, all spread and
growing, remind me of a grape vine.

Each path leading to a new notion.
In the wonderful scheme that is your
head, there is always a commotion.

They wonder, but don't observe and
ponder, why you always think.
They can't understand, especially with
their thoughts dripping out like a leaky
faucet in a kitchen sink.

Drip...drip...drip
While your thoughts are a waterfall,
running fast and heavy, giving the dull
people the slip.

the piano you played for me
their keys light like the sun
in your eyes gently playing me
a song we wrote between shared cups
of tea, picked flowers in the field
shoved into a pocket always big enough to fit
both of our hands.

Holding her is like holding broken glass:
Unlucky and ******* painful.
Yet the mesmerising rainbows dancing in her reflection draws me in.
Complex. She’s complex.
The butterfly wings of her lungs, the raging war of her subconscious.
She’s bizarre.
She is struggling.

Her pain justifies her actions, she says.
The collapsed mask of my face is crumbling, I am desperately trying to piece me back together.
But her shattered skin is slicing into me as I try and hold her too.
I cannot let her shards cascade into irretrievable ruin by smashing into the ground.
I cannot destroy her deeper.
Yet inky red blood trickles down my arm as I try and regain balance.
I cannot hold us both my love.

i felt miserable,
solemn to the fact,
that giving up
was my harsh reality.

i had dealt with pain before,
but nothing like
the anguish i juggled
in my own hands,
every single dying day,
keeping me up at night.

there’s something about,
sitting all alone
listening to the crickets,
while fueling my addiction,
one cigarette after another.
always finding comfort
in all the worst ways.

Back in eighth grade,
I littered my arms with scars,
told myself no more drugs,
But took them that very night.
always anxious for a way out of my own anxiety,
social and situational always got the best of me.

Took the oath of staying sober,
and picking myself up,
from the debt my heart held that night,
i swore it would stop.

but just like me,
it pushed through,
even when the smoke
filled it’s cavities,
and even when my own head,
lied to me,
over and over again.

My parents always said:

“listen to your heart, and not your head”.

your love fits like a glove,

but the glove has been doused in gasoline and lit on fire.

Age 12,
not a single tension of this world,
standing at a standstill,
And shouting ,'**** the whole universe'

age 13,
failed first time,
everything was fine,
except my parent's pride,

age 14,failed again,
for my pride,
my mum made me change my school once again,
I didn't feed on sun,still for everyone I was an alien,
thanks to Harry, Ron and Hermoine,
I learnt friendship from a friendship which I never got,
thanks to J.K Rowling too,
she's the reason why these rhymes make much more sense to me than those value of pi's do,

age 15, failed once again,
but no worries,
cause I know I am going to change the game,
that doesn't mean I don't cry,
don't worry,
when someone asks me,
I never tell them 'why?'

I read Edgar Allan Poe to Dan brown,
did not leave even a single account,
but still the main question remains,
will these words going to take me somewhere,
or even anywhere else,
or I too, will became a 9 to 5 slave just like everyone else.

-my story by adarsh Singh.