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These words trapped behind her fingers.
The scream that is trapped half way through her throat, it won’t let her breathe and she could never bring herself to let it out.
There is a prison that lives inside her and it carries all her pain.
Long lanes of solitary cells that hold back each demon that ever lived inside her, monsters that people created and left behind. Every step she takes crushes the earth beneath her as the weight of the world moves with her feet. Her eyes are drenched with tears of all the people who revealed their ugliness to her and her soul carried nothing more than goodbyes and apologies. She looked like death if it could ever be alive, and she sounded like she was speaking her last words every single day; hushed and careful. You would know her if you see her for she holds on to nothing; always ready to let go.

Smoked

She twirled a cigarette between her fingers and thought to herself how horrible it would be if people found out her truth, that she and the lean fragrant substance in her hand had so much in common.

You see she would lure you in with promises of comfort and pleasure and she would deliver what she promises, never the one to not keep her word. You would fall into the trap of her enchanting words even though she whispers words of warning to you time and time again. She will tell you to walk away from her, that she’s bad for you. But you will fall for the cliched situation thinking you can handle it. You won’t get addicted; you promise yourself. It’s all fun and games isn’t it? But before you know it you’ve fallen for the oldest trick in the book and it turns out you aren’t that special; you’re addicted. Hooked to every word, starting with the honeymoon period of intoxicated addiction you spiral into a zone of hate and need. You don’t want to reach out to her but you’t can stay away. She’s drained you out of health and wealth but you can’t let go of her. And just like a cigarette she gets used for entertainment and endurance but as soon as the fire is gone, she becomes of no purpose; a pile of burnt ashes that get stomped on by the world.

Don’t

Don’t stand so close to me.

I don’t want to hear your heart beat to someone else’s tunes. I don’t want to see your eyes shine over a new moon. I can’t bear your thoughts forming circles around me, twisting themselves like tight ropes around my neck, reminding me that I know your brain inside out. Don’t reach out for my hand like it’s a second home you know the way to so well and don’t challenge me with your words; shearing and tearing my soul apart with every syllable. You will always own my attention, always my first distraction but I won’t let you stand close enough to see, all the things your absence have done to me.

Yellow

You painted her dull world yellow but she never asked you to, you taught her fingers to feel and touch but she never asked you to. She never asked for poetry but you became her words, she never asked for your life but you became her’s. She never asked you to revolve around her but you told her she was the sun, that her light made you shine, that her warmth gave you shelter, you gave her greatness and you told her she was it. She never asked you for what she couldn’t afford but you told her she was worth the entire world. You gave with no answers and then you orbited away, forgetting that the sun is not a part of the system without it’s planets and you watched as the glowing rays turned into treacherous flames that swallowed her up, her words became scribbles of spilt ink; used and useless. So why did you give her what she never asked for but needed the most? Why did you give her the weapons to her self destruction. She never asked for a thing.

Dear God

Dear God,

I believe, I swear I believe.

But I am so scared and so alone, I feel it in my bones. I feel like I have no purpose other than giving my mother my degree, I feel like I wont ever be happy or feel laughter in my heart. I feel like I have been fighting and losing for so long and its hard. I am hurt and tired and scared.

Please make it better, please wash the pain in my heart, please grant me health and success. Dear God, shower me with peace and contentment and gift me with bliss and companionship. Or please make my end close and take me to you.

Angoris

And they will tell you many tales of love and its agony, but listen only to those who speak of how the world changed in their eyes after they lost love. Because that’s what falling in love does to you; like the right dose of endorphins and caffeine spreading through your blood, slowly and suddenly all at once and your world looks shinier, more complete. You see the beauty in the small things and every aspect is brighter, the edges are rounder and you feel high on power and self-confidence. It then transitions into the right dose of  intoxication and the world becomes a lovely book you’re reading on a breezy evening, you feel every single detail and every single emotion take over you, placing you on a magical carpet that travels the whole world with your soul; while your body remains static. And at the moment where you feel like you own the world and that you understand the reason behind existence is the exact moment it’s all stolen from you. You are no longer the sun nor the moon, you are no longer the purpose and the reason, you aren’t anyone’s thought every morning and night. You are stripped off bare and raw and your scar is hidden but furious and inflamed like an open heart scar buried  under layers of clothes but it becomes the first thing people notice when your skin is unconcealed.

Cor

She held her heart in her resting palm; to be taken, to be given, to slip and to break. She knew no other way, as she wished she could put it back in the cage where it belonged; where the rest of the world protected this precious gem of their’s. She slowly tried to close her fingers around it, trying to keep it safe and as her fingers touched the borders and corners of her heart she could feel the scars, the bruises of the many times people burrowed it and crushed it before giving it back, she could feel the swollen lumps that were left behind by the people who walked away. She realised the extent of the damage and how dangerous it was to have a grenade in her hold; a ticking self destructing image that she could no longer recognise as her heart. She digs in her nails in fury; trying to stop it, to suppress it, to be able to put it back where no one could get a hold of it but she never succeeded, she went on living with a heart that no longer knew how to keep her alive.

She broke

She broke. She broke like polished glass; empty, spotless and sharp, unintentionally cutting him with every piece he tried to gather. She stood and watched him in silence as he stayed for hours; bleeding as his fingers traced the sharp edges trying to fit all the pieces and she wished he knew. She wished he knew that he was the peace in her wars and that she found her words in his silence, that it was never her choice to break and fall apart but it was all she knew how to do. She wished he knew that it was his name that lingered on her lips like a safety word every time she shattered and that his voice was the only sound that could fill her empty center. That his existence was the only re-assurance she ever had and his love was the only faith she ever understood.

She broke into so many different pieces, so many different times and she wished he knew that he was the only reason she could be stuck back together.

Run

I’ve been running.

I’ve been running for so long that my feet can’t carry me anymore, they keep sinking into the floor; dragging me back to reality. And as my pace is switched; slower to faster, my steps change their manner. I fall, stumble, stand up and stagger. Every once in a while my feet halt their self to position; firm yet weak and they beg me to listen but I hear no words; for all that I could ever hear can only be said in your voice and I don’t know how to stay still in a world where I can’t see you, where I can’t hear your heart beat across your chest. I can’t stand and watch all the places that still radiate the warmth of your presence; begging and yearning for a visit from a soul that blazed everything alive with a touch. I can’t bear to try and reach out for your hand like I always did and find myself holding thin air, so my feet will keep running till the ending point and I shall meet you there.

I’ve always had trouble sleeping.

When I was younger I’d poke my mother awake and ask her why I couldn’t sleep like everyone else and she told me to stop thinking, to just let all my thoughts float away and just think about nothing. My uncle told me to count till 100, several times. We tried everything, bedtime stories, homework to exhaust me and even watching TV with my mother, but nothing could shut my brain off.

I grew up and the very same brain that gave rise to my insomnia, decided to branch into many other conditions by overworking itself and I still wonder what it means to just stop thinking, to be able to shut your brain down without slushing down chemicals to do this simple job for you.

At first I thought it was my brain only that worked at 5000 miles per min but sometimes I feel like my being, my core, my soul; whatever it is that I can feel present and absent so often is running on a non stopping treadmill. Some days I’m so aware of my existence, I can feel every emotion; wide and awake beating within me, I drive for hours contemplating every single blessing in my life and it’s almost as if I am one with everything. Other days I feel as empty as a barren land, devoid of happiness and content; indifferent and drought. Then there are the days in between where I suffer and I feel myself slipping away; my thoughts, my pulse, my breaths and I feel nothing but pain in every inch of my body and soul and I always give it my best shot to hold on to any shred of sanity left within me.