The poetries I write now,
Don't smell like lavender anymore.
Those letters are losing their charm
Like fallen stars.

I drank the potion of depression,
And danced in the court of pain.
I derive my fears,
And calculate insecurities by myself.

I wonder how broken I feel sometimes..
Yet,
Words seize my heavy heart..
~instead of bleeding !!

The allegations burning out'o people's lips
Cut holes in my cadaver.

But, I'm not weak like them sooks !
I held the pieces of my silhouette,
From falling apart and scattering away..into time.

I now, still visit hearts
But don't promise them a voice.
( I can't )
'Cause I'm a metaphor, that soon might turn into ashes..!
The pages in my diary are stale and cold-hearted.
I tried to warm them up.
Yes, but there always were 'people' to turn off the warm flame of love.

I once felt an urge to define HAPPINESS,
But, it messed my emotions up..
And explained PAIN.

Then came books to my rescue.
They made me a self-explanatory soul, rather than the desolate dregs devoid of hope.
They painted my heart in a beautiful shade of Grey,
Such lovely is the hue...
That the living souls see it almost 'scarlet' .
Embedded with Amethyst.

Now, I only pray..
That someday, somehow,
These punctuations and these alliterations
( And the smiles-and-tears accompanying them )
Hopefully will Sharpen you and lead to the valiant realization.

The realization ~~
Of my sacrifices for you.
Of my love for you.

No, don't get me wrong.
It's not that you don't care, I know that.
But, you stopped worrying, afterall.