Apparently, I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.
I can’t take this anymore,
Through my cracks and;
Pores, I’ve started to break.
Like shattered dreams, I’m full
Of tears, blood and hopelessness;
Waiting to be purged.
Let the fire of our love set
Me on fire, while the flames
Engulf me, I shall be reborn.
But I was no phoenix, and
My tears could never meand
Our broken hearts.
Apparently I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.
I watched the traffic pass from the first floor terrace, slowly. Noisy people and vehicles all around and I chose to sit all alone and write. The very next moment I felt I should try to change my asocial behaviour, so I got up to join the noisy people. A friend walks up to me as I got up, so we sat down.
Lots of talking, beautiful and boring conversations, I was a part and not. It was an evening well spent, more or less.
I wanted to spend the night under the stars, staring, thinking and die.
I wanted to stare at the night sky, counting, trying to connect the dots to see a face and read my life. Songs with slow, catchy, romantic or sad notes played as I wished for the night to never end.
I wanted to think about a life, happy, satisfied, full and pleasurable. I didn’t want a joint or beer to give me that, just my hands running through slightly curled hair, staring into those deep eyes and the passion burning between us at that moment, was it.
The inevitable death is my favourite conversationalist who has insights deep, distant and dire.