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.