Rock bottom-

Rock bottom-

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It is a horrible place
To be, where the ground,
Has rubbed against your bare
Body for so long, it becomes-
Normal? Being covered in
Dirt.

It is a horrible place
To dwell in, when darkness
Lasts more than its allotted 12
Hours, and the rays of light
Shining through becomes
The abnormal. Hope is not
Normal?

It is a horrible place
To live, surrounded by
Silence, embraced by its
Cunning arms and the sound
Of another soul, reaching out
Becomes noise. Friends become
Nuisance?

It is a horrible place
To be, where all that is wrong
Seem right, and all that is light
Appears distorted.
When an abyss, becomes
Home?
It is a horrible place
To be- alone.

On being lonely-

On being lonely-

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And she said, I’m going to be lonely,
There’s no one that can handle my tides;
She was echoing the words of her family,
Who’d imprinted in her- she’s too wild.

She had silenced the sound of her laughter,
And glided with- the sway of her hips;
She smiled without showing her fine teeth,
And chewed with her lips tightly sealed.

She dressed with the label- appealing,
For the family approved of it;
And it was only under the night’s Blanket,
She found the glimmer to be real.

Who’s to say that you’re going to be Lonely,
When your fate has been crafted and sealed;
It’s been written by the best of writers
And he’s designed you to be unique.

The above image is courtesy of Chakra centre.org

Haunted…

Haunted…

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She knows what it’s like,
To be terrified
Of the face looking back,
To want to run,
But there’s no where to hide;
The world too small,
To keep them at bay,
The haunting thoughts…
She knows what it’s like,
To put in words,
Feelings you can’t decipher;
To write down rhymes,
At dusk with the moon
Illuminating
The tears streaming down.

She knows what it’s like,
To shrivel back,
At the touch of a hand;
To build a wall,
Around one’s brokenness;
To live a life,
Barely surviving;
She knows what’s it’s like,
To feel alone,
With a crowd all around;
To search for hope,
At the Brink of desperation
And that’s the reason,
She won’t let you go.
She knows what’s it’s like
And vows you won’t,
have to surf it alone.

the above image is courtesy of Juniorgman.tumblr

Searching…

Searching…

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She searched for reviews of books to read, the best she got was “satisfying”. She wasn’t one to settle for average, never had been; so she tried the search button yet again.

More books, more search titles and more average satisfying reviews. She wanted a book she could drown her sorrows in. She wanted a book which reflected the strange universe embedded in the depth of her mind. She wanted a book whose words she could breathe.

But above all, she wanted a book she could recall with a smile at the unusual coincidence of distinct similarities with the characters,
         In the end, she decided, maybe I should write one…

IMAGE CREDIT:Merilocal.com

Her Sanctuary

Her Sanctuary

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For a longtime she was scared of being alone. There was something about the silence that was paralyzing. The voices got stronger and the words, louder with the silence around. She fit herself into any group of people she could find just to avoid the silence or lack thereof that came with being alone. And that was one side of the coin.

On the other hand, a part of her was yearning to be secluded. It felt encroached in public despite the empty spaces between her and most people. It didn’t matter, even 10 feet away was too close. That part of her needed to be alone, away from multi-cellular organisms, and it did always win.

And there she would be, in a semi-sitting position, knees shaking, head throbbing; the voices gaining force. Having a meaningless conversation in her head of which all she could make out were mumbles. She was crazy, had to be. On the edge of her single bunker bed, hands in her hair trying to shut the voices, she claws deeper into her skull. It didn’t help, because just as the the whirlwind of emotion began, the waterworks began as well.

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You are Loved

You are Loved

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You miss someone but,
They don’t care;
You drown In thoughts of-
one not there;
You contemplate should,
You let go?
What if he comes back,
Once again.

You miss someone but,
They’re not here;
You love someone that-
Doesn’t care;
It’s almost time for,
A fresh year;
You feel alone with-
Love in the air.

You need to know that-
you are loved;
By a nineteen year old-
Somewhere near;
She sends you love and
Sweets and hugs;
And needs you to know-
That you are loved.

And She Wrote-

And She Wrote-

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It was one of those blue days,
Where dawn preceded with tears;
And there was little the Rays of sun,
Could do to erase her fears;
And down and down they streamed-
Across a sullen pale dark skin-
And they dripped so hot,
Like the burn in her chest;
So she picked up a pen,
Yeah amidst the tears;
And was tempted to poke,
At the wrist yet again;
But a paper piece gleamed,
And she took it instead;
And she wrote and she cried,
Kept on writing amidst the cries;
And the paper- got filled
With the sun- at its peak
And she looked to the streaming
Rays, now flooding in;
Not a smile, but not a tear
Just relief from unburdening;
And a resolve, grew deeply
To write every now and then;
And write the time away she did-
And write the pain away she did-

I do not want to grow old alone-

I do not want to grow old alone-

I do not want to grow up, old and bitter
Being the old lady who’s sour and a screamer;
Lonely and cold on a windy Friday night,
sitting and knitting under a full moon light;
Oblivious to its beauty, lost in past thoughts
Of a life long gone, never to return.

I do not want to be known as the debby downer;
One who drowns children in tales of old times-
Of witches and wizards and rumples’ disguise,
Misleading true lovers and preaching a life-
Where love is a farce and fairytales don’t last.

I do not want to die old with no one to hold;
No one to laugh at my old woman jokes;
No one to decipher the pain in my scorn;
No one to joke at my degrading neurons.

I do not want to live till the sun goes extinct;
The dark takes up it’s place, I do not want it-
To live with mere shadows of myself, lonely me.

I do not want laughter to come from the street,
Through windows with no one to cheer me within.

I do not want to grow old and wither all alone.