Home

I open the lock of the door
To find the rooms screaming at me;
Walls closing in;
Suffocating the hell out of me.
The ceiling somehow falling;
All my miseries crawling
Out of my veins as I stand there.
My blood boiling to see the view from the window
That opens to a better world than this forsaken floor.
The curtains hiding
All that this place has seen.
Spider-webs at the corner of the ceiling-
Sign of the horrors of this goddamned place.

I hate my home…


// a REAL, REAL personal piece... its actually the way i sometimes feel. I'm actually forced to feel so...the situations force me...

The Nerve

Armored with the passion to hurt myself,
To see myself bleed,
To cover the scars of the harsh blows
Upon which the greedy scavengers did feed.

I cut open this wound
And hit the right nerve,
Which, for so long
Had nothing but empty memories to conserve.

The fragile flow of the blood flowing through these poisoned veins,
Oozing out of these violent slashes;
Exposing my weaknesses to the greedy souls,
Leaving me with nothing but dead ashes.

The sneers, the humiliating laughter;
The torment they’ve had in their spell,
Have ripped up my steel armor;
Driving me more inside of my shell.

Bloodstains in the sink,
Drops all over the floor,
Show nothing, but my fears, (or so to think)
Killing the coward inside all the more.

The continued stabs I’ve received,
Have made me hide behind my wall.
They could hit me in the right spot again.
I fear the thought. I fear it all.

I try to blankly face the attackers,
But the very thought leaves me shocked.
I’m afraid at being stabbed in the heart again.
I’m afraid at again being mocked.

My heart- now turned lead,
Is yearning to let go
This weak soul I’ve held on for too long.
That’d mean killing the real me, though.

Do I need to write on these empty walls
The feelings and confessions before I die?
Or, can anyone figure the reason without seeing the blood?
Can someone at least give it a try?

Actions speak louder than Words

I put on a new face.
They didn't accept me the way I was.
So, I masked myself with this fake smile,
Covering within all my flaws.

Screaming in the middle of a crowded room.
Yet no one hears a slightest sound.
Lungs panting out of breath,
but all efforts are pushed further below ground.

So, if actions speak louder than words,
Then, why do my actions go unheard?

The Acrimonious Prayer of an Atheist

You took me in your arms,
Made me fall prey to your blind-faith,
Filled me with myths of your make-believe,
And left me in my weak, fragile state.

You said I'm destined to find the answers,
in the eternal search of my salvation.
You said I'll be able to find my mind's peace,
Be able to sustain this abstination.

You gave me everything I ever wanted,
Made me begging you for more.
You made me feel completely at home,
and then showed me the door.

You promised to give me all you had in store.
But I dont believe you anymore!

Made of Stone

Yes, I'm alive, still breathing.
So what if I dont smile anymore?
Blood is still running through these veins.
So what if I'm made of stone in the core?

Maybe its because I dont want to.
Maybe I'm plainly tired.
Maybe I'm tired of taking the blame.
Maybe its cos nothing went as I had desired.

So what?

I'm still alive.
This heart beating mildly.
My senses still recovering from your lies.
My body is still bein pricked by the needles
Of your sharp words and cries.

So what if I'm not responding to your calls?
So what if my appearance seems unknown?
So what if I no longer have feelings for you?
So what if I'm made of stone?

Does it matter to you?
At all..?

Quicksand

Here I lie
With a serene smile,
In quicksand.
Watching the sun set,
The light drawing out forever from my day,
Filling the void chambers of my heart with shades of grey.

The more I fight,
The more I drown.
Up there, the tyrant laughs
Wearing his mighty crown.
Did he call me back in his life just to see me die?
I don’t know.
And I don’t care.
I’ll just give in to this quicksand,
Drown myself with a smile.

The winds carrying the cursed words
That he did swear to me;
Resounding in my ears,
Poisoning me to the core;
Destroying my self-confidence even more.

Here I lie
With a serene smile.
Defying all rules of rhymes
In this unnamed poetry of my life.
Surrendering to this quicksand all the while;
Escaping from his tyrant reign.

Did he do what he did to see me in utter pain?
Does he even deserve to be called “Father”?
I don’t know.
And I don’t care.

I’ll just let myself to this quicksand
With a serene smile;
To escape from it all after all this while…

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this one's a real personal piece, makes me sad everytime i read it :(

The Shell

I’m not the shell
I’m the thing that’s hidden inside
In the fragile state of mind and being
I cry.
Cry to be set free
Cry to come out of my shell
Cry to be able to wipe my own tears
Cry to be able to face my fears.
But all I do is cry
Never having the courage
To at least give it a try.

Why ain’t I strong enough
To face these daggers?
Why am I compelled to hide
In my self-created darkness?
Why do I have to rest in the arms of security?
Why am I not brave enough to face a single obscurity?

The dead neurotic cells have gone numb.
They’ve had enough than they already should
Hardening to form my armor, my shell
Deafening me from all the yells.

I’m not the shell.
I’m the thing inside.
The thing that’ll live on
To die.