a thought came to me at a time when all thoughts were unwelcome, unwanted but it came nonetheless it was a simple thought really a basic form of an idea a tiny sapling that would grow its roots into my heart and its branches would invade my mind, shattering what little sanity remained this thought, this...thing. i would later come to view as a spectre and as a ghoul because it haunted me it dogged me for so long for too long perhaps that was the beginning or maybe the end... the query is always did i grow into this madness or from it. this malady but i suppose it matters little if one can't tell the difference after all darkness to me; is only water to the sea
| To the melody who calms the chaos Happy Birthday JK / this one is for you |
Omgush POD for This one ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ Finalllyyy @miraquill I don't know how to thank you, this is a part of my purple heart Thank you so much for sharing this. I'm beyond overwhelmed Today is @writersnetwork Thank you so much ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
Champagne spread over the rug hiding the bloodstains in its hue with an odour that spill all truths of segregation one by one as they are parts of the maze, with a visible reach of invisible scars.
As long as I could learn the fault rather I fell for more deceits that put me behind bars of the walls, I called the room.
The Dreamer, believing fantasies I have withstood. The Dreamer, do I even look like one? The Dreamer, half-dead during midnight. ~ the caption I mixed up with the sketchy fantasies.
The fan on the ceiling alarms every day as the bed shifted to its neighbour, the surfaces are far away as much as she. I attempt to reach there but the invisible hopes deteriorate the destiny collecting numerous wishes.
I sometimes make situations appear confusing to hide what I wanted to confess. Does this make me mentally unstable? Maybe little scared to say what I learnt in the recent past times when patterns over curtains in the drawing-room were satisfying as art and now a threaded view of parts nowhere linked to each other.
This my madness in books or thirst in cry yearning bright stars at night of the full moon with you by my side even it's six feet apart or more than that still you by my side.
An artist in love or sailor in the mid of dead life, throbbing within its corpse parted in varied speeches some reported to her way and some indirectly plunged to the clogged blood dripping into the pipe connected to the hand, tried to escape the ink of words with hefty unconditional rules of pain teasing love.
हमने आपकी रचनाएँ पढ़ी, वह सभी अद्वितिय हैं। हम आपको अपनी नई पुस्तक में सहयोग देने के लिए आमंत्रित करना चाहते हैं। पुस्तक आपके नाम के साथ प्रकाशित होगी साथ उसकी प्रतियां भी आपको दी जाएंगी। आपको सम्मानित करते हुए स्वर्ण पदक भी दिया जाएगा।
अधिक जानकारी के लिए संपर्क करें।
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He walks like a dream at night. veiled, young and shy. Alluring, intoxicating, fulfilling and emptying, all at the same time. But, so quickly, He vanished like the wind that blows white dandelions in the air. In front of me, my love is flaunted. I realize that I never really mattered. I know I'm supposed to depend on myself only, but how can I do that when I feel whole when I'm with him? This long, I shipped a thousand feelings, only to watch them sink. There is no rain to chase. There is no time to be retained There is no gaining back what's gone. Therefore, I pass my way into dreamland A train down memory lane A nice comfy padded room For the bits that went insane. Those dreams still revolve around him and my stomach feels like cherry stems tied loosely together, and even though the words that leave my lips scream no, not anymore, the empty feeling in my heart feels like a snared drum of contradiction. In silence I loved him, yet lost him. In silence I've longed for his hand, And met emptiness. In silence I fell, And heard my own heart breaking. In silence, He swayed my heart and danced with it - only to see it fall. The face of disappointment strikes straight through my heart it takes away my energy and tore my hope apart Now, I can’t seem to find a bandage big enough to heal the hole he left in my dying heart. Subconsciously memories are fading, But there's nothing I can do, because The damage has been done, And What's gone, is gone. Things will never be the same again. Expecting miracle is useless in this messed up madness. Since, nothing will fix this once upon a time fairytale. This devotion will only be remembered as a romance with no happily ever after - The one I pen down as eulogy ~ a scribbled journal, a prescription for madness I paraded around as love, Where the dreams unfulfilled Vanished without warning Soaking my heart in distrust and mourning Creating in the center of my mind an emptiness so still. However, I may wake up tomorrow to realise it was just a nightmare, As I plunged in the sea of madness...
lovenotes_from_carolynI have a very poor short term memory; so despite reading members posts thoroughly and carefully, after a brief time the same piece would seem brand new again to me. Anyway this was an exceptional piece and I was very glad to read it, edited or otherwise. Lots of love to you.
Some call it a kind of mental sickness When you aren’t like others around you When your thoughts and actions do not reflect What others perceive to be true When your actions are simply deemed weird And you’re treated differently in the lieu Of being the bearer of divergence Posing a threat to the world view When you’re unable to understand How into a weed instead of a flower you grew And a collection of stones begins to form around Due to them being thrown constantly at you Because the wiring inside of your head simply Isn’t like anyone you ever knew Sometimes even you are convinced that You are a part of the “mad” few
In a perfect world, without stigma Where a spark of uniqueness is celebrated Being a little crazy is a good thing and Being normal is considered over rated When a society chooses to embrace all its People and they live their lives integrated Then the few who are different feel Accepted and not deliberately segregated The ability to be receptive towards others Is often overlooked and underestimated With understanding and embracing our differences We learn to not create the differentiated Folk with a creative bend who seem “mad” Who are with a different wiring created Are given a platform to be themselves and bring a Unique take on things to become the appreciated
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