Of loneliness and agony.

Lost between the pages,
I kept waiting for someone to come find me.
It was ages before there was a knock on the cover,
And then a swish,
Like someone trying to dust off the cobwebs.
I was left on the shelves for far too long,
My pages were yellowed and moth-bitten.
The words appeared faded,
Their ink having bled out from years of loneliness.
When the cover finally opened,
The first sliver of light
Breathed life into each word,
And soon it was all sunshine and rainbows.
Alas, all good things must come to an end.
It was a beautiful day,
I was revelling in my new found happiness,
When a sharp pain hit my spine.
A crack and a rip.
My pages were being torn.
One by one.
And I yearned to be back on the shelves again.
The pain lasted until I was stripped off all my glory,
Until I had lost all sense of identity.
And then came a thump,
And absolute darkness.
The cover was closed.
I was thrown back on the shelves again.
Only this time,
There were no pages to get lost into.
Only a perpetual darkness
Haunted by demons,
And a noise,
Like pages being shred.
And I was lost.
This time, forever.

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Learning to Love Myself

Love, I was starting to think that with you gone, I was gone, too. I wasn’t wrong to think that. I really am gone. The me who laughed for you, who wrote for you, who cried for you, who lived for you is gone. She died the day you left. But I found myself a new identity. Lost under all those layers that I put on to please you, there was a girl who yearned to live for herself, who wanted to sing and laugh and dance and write without having a care in the world. When you left, all those layers fell apart and the girl timidly stepped out into the world; Lost, scared and broken. But with each day that passed, she found her strength and learned to live. With your memories, without you. Until one morning, the pain felt bearable and she smiled, a real smile. And she laughed and cried and sang and danced. For herself. For the day you left, love, she learned to love herself. I learned to love myself.

Searching.

My sun has reached its nadir,
Cloaking me with darkness,
On a moonless night.
The stars, too, shine a little less,
Refusing to disobey the sun and the moon.
And yet again, I’m left alone,
To try to find my broken pieces in these shadows.
Some still intact,
Some damaged beyond repair
And some so sharp, they slice right through me,
Letting the happiness and sanity leak out,
Spreading the poisonous despair all through my veins.
It leaves me there,
Paralysed by my ownself,
Never wanting to dream or break free again.
And these voices inside my head,
They shout, mocking me,
“Look, what dreaming has reduced you to.”
And I fall, into a heap of those broken dreams,
The shards piercing every pore of my being,
And yet, all I feel is numb.
Too tired to plead for help,
And too far gone to care.

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Fiery cold.

Soul as dark as the ashes
Of those letters.
The photographs,
Shredded to bits,
Like the heart
Broken into
A thousand little pieces.
Drowning in spirits,
Trying to tear down
The countless forts
Built together.
Passing out cold,
Hoping to wake up
With no memories of yesterday,
Or life.
A love so dark,
They couldn’t let it be.
A soul so tired,
Why couldn’t they let it be?
The tears,
They continued to flow,
Hoping to thaw
The iciness within.
An iciness that blazed,
Like a fire that licked
Everything it touched.
It won’t stop,
Until everthing is
Burnt down.
It won’t stop,
Until everything is
Frozen.

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