red - her lips tasted of wine and blood and all the pain she felt in her heart. she was driven by wild passion and survived solely on her intensity and strength. each breath she took was like fire; so absolute, so empowered.
orange - her hair was crafted from the bright ashes of a phoenix, kindled with streaks of gold. she always seemed to be her own lick of flame from the embers that burned in her heart to the coals that touched her soul.
yellow - her smile was light at your darkest hour, sunshine after a rainstorm. inspired by everything and nothing at all. she was the sun personified, the epitome of radiance.
green - her eyes were so deep and magnificent and ethereal, while still lit with puerility. she could look at you with those eyes and show you that she cared so passionately for you, no matter your mistakes or your faults.
blue - her skin drowned in an ocean of tears, storm after storm, each wave wracked her body. she trembled with heartrending sobs, each breath heavier than the last. her sorrow painted the depths of her, unseen to those who had not genuinely looked into her eyes.
purple - her organs were stained an ugly shade by the darkness she consumed. her hunger was insatiable. she filled her mouth with poison and swallowed it with a smile on her face. the air traveled from her bruised lungs, through her macerated throat, and out her smiling, stained lips.

the pinnacle of childhood
comes with the symphony of adolescence.
the realization that life is evanescent,
the breaking of cyclical routine,
catalyzing the bittersweet epiphany
of long-awaited nirvana.
no longer blithe and naïve,
quaff from the chalice of clemency
until intoxicated with the notion
of no longer being in limbo.
the mendacious oblivion of childhood evaporates,
lifting the veil of soporific innocence,
all traces of puerility gone.
come,
enter the province of adulthood,
and live as a free soul,
no longer required to conform
to the standards of ascetics.

In seclusion when I sit;
And close both my eyes.
I travel way back in time.
Flying time vision defies.

Childhood friends appear.
Faces clear and bright.
I think of Raj, Arsh and Anas;
And they're in my sight.

A day I saw a drug-addict.
My friend Arsh he was.
Distorted image of puerility.
Sunken eyes, ugly Jaws.

Now when I close my eyes.
I see all but Arsh I see no more.
When I think of Little Arsh.
A drug-addict comes before.

We remember the pain but not the happiness.

We remember the results but not the struggle behind that.

We remember the worst but not the best moment.

We remember the adulthood but not the puerility!!

Cast aside, for I've nothing worth taking.
A valid opinion, with no value.
Disregard any of my thoughts,
in this room, there is no use speaking.
Interruptions, take me down.
bring in realization,
of the puerility of my mind.
Thoughtlessness seems to get one far,
but I can never ascertain the ability,
to speak, before I think.
A flaw in personality,
corroding the complexity of my being.
An open mind, enclosed.
If only, I could.

Hear me out for once,
I'm sick of only talking to paper, with pen.
It drains me, like the ink from the canister,
but I can never get everything out,
and there is always more pens,
so my writing, will never end.