pen_and_paper

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Believe in me, help me believe in anything.

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  • pen_and_paper 48w

    B U L L E T S

    I think that
    they want me cause they
    would shoot me in the end,
    look at me when they shoot the bullets
    through my head,
    the bag of dirt and girth
    showering down the sand
    on the streets of loneliest town,
    a desert of hope growing cactus
    flooded with no water
    shifting silence on the
    doorstep of the
    six feet deep the Earth
    lying bullet in my head,
    look at me when they put the bullets
    in my head
    one by one
    beneath the Sun
    and moon moving down
    an eclipse making water blackish
    the rain stinging who awaits
    for their lovers
    singing a song of freedom fighter,
    rhyming with the slogans
    of wars and wars which aren't true.

    I got a sense of humor
    for every tragedy they cause
    every pain
    said and done
    every poem written with blood
    I soaked them
    filled inside a bullet
    written my name on it.

    I was someone born with a hole
    in the head
    that being said
    a shadow through me trails
    another one and it goes on
    well
    it's no longer a shadow no more
    it's my color
    it took too long to cover me with
    it won't fade
    with a bullet in my head.

    ©pen_and_paper

  • pen_and_paper 48w

    There was a river down the bay,
    how hard it did hit me everyday,
    I was lost to the beautiful sinister,
    I changed a lot
    to become monster.

    People around seemed so happy all the same,
    I was a wanderer
    a shy monster without a name,
    the monster knew witches,
    knew witchcraft,
    in search of a name i did split in half.

    Ran ran away to the east, sent my other half to West,
    A blacksmith on the village gate caught my interest,
    Oh, ugly man abandoned of fire and rain,
    you're such a poor, give me your name.

    He trembled and cried,
    refused to sacrifice,
    It was tough to convince a-nothing-left-to-lose man it seemed,
    A promise to make him wealthy, let me swing inside him.

    He became popular over the town,
    The king in the city a till-yesterday-clown.
    He grew and grew
    became rich,
    till one day people caught him shouting,
    the monster inside me is getting so big.

    (T B C)

    ©pen_and_paper

    -----------------------------------------------------------------
    Based on a story used in anime *monster*

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    Monster-I

  • pen_and_paper 49w

    Black rose immortal

    ///The return of a dead soldier from the ruined continent of frozen wounds, the return of cold winds from the burning city///

    Moonlight caresses the top of a lonely hill,
    black rose immortalized
    blackened like my naked soul;
    shine ablaze with frost bite scarring my portrait of past life;

    The rocks on moon devoid of faith,
    carried oxygen and treason;
    iron yet to rust, yet to be found,
    water seen nowhere and a grave
    with sight of summer,
    the black rose immortal,
    shines admist the fevered blood,
    injections and vaccination
    of ungodly talk at ungodly hours,
    still calm at mind with peace,
    the black rose stands, yet again.

    Floating on the top most layer of frozen mist,
    holding my wrist in the grip of the air,
    it howls looking me in the eye,
    it won't let me escape until I die,
    they let the black night sleep in my blood,
    the sounds I made, disappeared,
    Obscure, unsettling, unrest,
    reappeared as the thorns,
    of the black rose immortal.

    Once again, they cried,
    the lake, through with I did sail,
    like a morning star,
    I laugh whenever I see them cry,
    I smile when I let them die,
    I told them, I was there,
    when they let the frostbite on my hand freeze,
    and through the fire and flames,
    rose the black rose immortal.

    ©pen_and_paper

  • pen_and_paper 49w

    Inspired from an anime I'd not suggest anyone.

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    Melting snow

    You said you might fade away when I thought it was me fading off with the long lost voices inside my head, I think the same, I just have forgotten to ink em that well.

    It's as beautiful as the fading of spring into autumn or the cold dazzled air into the beginning of summer, it's as beautiful as the crushed childhood into a long endured responsible vision when you begin to smile on your dreams rather than lament the end of em right in front of your eyes.

    I knew you'd fade away eventually but my instincts did beat me miles when I couldn't guess for me the same.

    People come and go, everything changes and I was never sad about it until I couldn't remind your face for once and all.

    I'd always deny every spec of it cause I always knew it won't always be the same.

    ©pen_and_paper

  • pen_and_paper 55w

    I wrote this last night.

    Writing about so long, that's why this lame.

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    Slice of death

    They cry when someone,
    among the community dies
    a subtle death,
    easy or harsh doesn't matter often,
    even you're completely useless,
    people catch feelings,
    if you lift your drop
    of tear and let it touch em
    before it hits the floor.

    They cry in roads
    when someone of their own dies
    death isn't beautiful as they claim,
    when they're pretty far away,
    from the Sunset.

    Death is dark,
    death is end
    of everything you hold,
    your consiousness,
    death is fear
    of being alone
    and what if someone dies twice,
    one for the sorrow of the people,
    another in the afterlife,
    death is a pond
    of marsh,
    You won't see
    in the quicksand.
    Death is the end,
    like a star dying of it's light.

    Death is the spillway of tears,
    and I can't be sadder about life too.

    ©pen_and_paper

  • pen_and_paper 59w

    Griffin-dork

    Rib cage body slam,
    Back ache, dead man.
    Hug plug phone man.
    Silver lining, little plans.

    Heart-less, shirtless,
    Dirty and hurt.
    Smirks till retarded,
    Cries when started.

    Tutor, psychics, psychedelics,
    Poison poisonous ivys.
    Get ten points on every mistake,
    Griffin-dork, life at stake.

    ©pen_and_paper

  • pen_and_paper 60w

    Here's a sad poem about a happy ending.

    Inspired from album, "August and everything after."

    Fiction.



    "If she remembers, she hides it, whenever we meet."

    "I had too much to drink, I didn't think of you."

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    Take the way home.

    My circus has fallen down to the end,
    What would I change,
    if I could.

    Your fake train is approaching miles to miles,
    your love must been real tonight.
    You were lying, I was thinking,
    And I was drinking.

    Three hundred sixty five days and more,
    you've been trying to love me.
    And I need a fake love,
    I need a real life,
    I need little wine,
    everything else should die.

    Things I remember, things I forget,
    I don't know what to say,
    But I wish this was a small world,
    I'm too lonely for this big town.

    I need fake love.
    And some wine.

    I need fake love.
    Everything else should die.

    ©pen_and_paper

  • pen_and_paper 61w

    I need a Sun burn, I need a rain come. You get back to work in town, I'll stay at home with my disease. I have friends who care for me. I have pills which try to keep me awake. There are lies you have left behind on the walls of my building. I have to wipe them and keep them away from me.

    You've that car of yours and it's red, like my blood, and your keys are like bones under my skin. My flesh hanging out like your back seat, torn a little, I've my eyes burning, like the engine heat. But I'm not starting it again and trying to keep myself awake on the bed. Maybe I'll sleep till you return, and I'll have a hundred emotions covering your fan.

    I need a Sun burn, I need a rain come. I'm not worrying, cause I'm already overly concerned, it doesn't bother me the same. There is something in between, but I will always turn my head, I'll not let myself regret, if it's love. I'm not worrying. I'm just overly concerned.

    You're talking in your sleep and it's keeping me awake.

    And I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

    ©pen_and_paper


    --------------------------------------------------------------------

    Heavily inspired from many songs.

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    But it rained.

  • pen_and_paper 63w

    "चोरी चोरी हमसे तुम आ कर मिले थे जिस जगह,
    मुद्दतें गुज़रीं पर अब तक वो ठिकाना याद है!


    ..... और दुपट्टे से तेरा वो मुँह छुपाना याद है! "

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    .

  • pen_and_paper 64w

    It's just another afternoon with hot air-ed winds blowing horizontally east to west, it comes with the drip dripping sand castle of nostalgia and shakes my inkpot, I start to write.

    It's just another afternoon with August arriving in the beginning of March, both head of to the year, it's something I wait for, every year, something I wish to last.

    It's just another afternoon with Sun spotted on the middle of the sky, shading the moon to die of light, yet the curtains shiver of the breeze and aloevera plants down the balcony lean a little more to let the dust past through it.

    It's just another afternoon with the springs singing for the May queen, it's the time of the year, when the lotus pokes the pond and tulips bloom. It's the arrival of the first one to arrive and second one to diffuse, it's the departure of the shallow black waters inside the mud.


    PS- This is my favorite phase of the year.

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    All that no good to think, no good to say, no good to write. All that no good to write.

    ~London Fields. (2018)