I borrowed a handful of blue sky from my last lover and saw that clouds were some enigmatic characters of a lovelorn spring, the sun rays gently kissing the outdoors and indoors are deprived of affection. My place is a grey gloomy garden gathering grassroot vintages, plucking euphoric verses lying in a corner inside those dumb envelopes, sealed to death, stamped with crux of goodbyes and hereby the funeral(s) of nostalgia I have attended, I found myself in a state resembling a torn page of Pride and Prejudice. The burlesque dancer, pain took steps alongside my heartbeats and made no utterance of the triumph over bygones.
I glued my eyes to sleep, found myself staring at frames burdened with smiles hanging on peach walls of abode like presence; My eyes, full of moisture and it is about to rain a chunk of dusted emotions longing to the sand with which my mind had been nourished subconsciously I belonged to home but see time runs at the pace of a cheetah.
I walked bare feet in nightmares to reach the threshold to apocalypse because my sneakers did not stick to my vagabond feet, the pair of it decided not to accompany my attire in nightmares. They are afraid of this monologue, the gurgling laugh of a d(evil) down deserted dreams, "monologues." I avoided this rust I am serious, I neither want to be a rusted iron nor a responding vigilant. I want not to provide necessities to despair anymore. All I want is to stay the clown I was. You know that shadows pierce the walls, like that, monologues slap on the face of fantasy. My lover had a stance of grey painted with melodies of affection. Poems, Oh goodness, I envy you. Your aura keeps humming "HOME, breathe." Past was a tall, handsome man in grey archives and is. I belonged to past, I left after few clock ticks. I left. I.
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The coffee beans in my room have restrained from brewing up and the sun denied to rise from the window settled at the corner of my decaying closet, and there's this feeling of the end chasing after me only when I realized beginning of it, that I'm afraid to sail a single step outside these four naked walls. Everyone around me is stitching their stories and I'm here, right at the edge of an epilogue of mine.
I used to catch fireflies with my bare hands on some bleak evenings, they often liberated their last breathe in my palms, but nobody knew I fathomed burying corpses in graveyards just like I wrapped my dead emotions into a morgue after being fascinated by what autumn does to its leaves.
The dreams that twinkle within me are what the stars would've recited if the skies were painted by Van Gogh everyday. But my eyes are still crooning about the phases of moon that people are afraid to face. The stains on my lips are midnight memories that I've pasted on forgotten ballads and I carry them in my pocket when the teacher asks me to not be a traitor anymore. Every mistake of mine is floating on the tears that I've rained yesterday and the biggest mistake that I commit is when my hands tremble to turn the next page of life and I wonder if today is favourable enough to die. ~Purva
#journal in caption #mirage_poetry_contest haiku's in bg based on the topic suicide. To those reading this know that you're not alone and suicide is never a solution to any problem. I know it's not easy to share your pain, I know people usually don't understand what you're going through but J.K Rowling said help is given to those who ask for it (modified). Talk about it because the sun rises everyday and you've got one life don't let it drown easily.