• toria_collocca 138w

    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..
    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.

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