The Moon

The Moon

In the backseat, she didn’t care who took the lead,
heading to nowhere or somewhere, she paid no heed.
Rolling down the window, whispering wind rushed through her hair,
she gazed at the sky, ignoring the wind and the mist in the air.

Her eyes shifted from the indigo to the blue and black,
finally landing on the silver moon, counting stars she lost track.
Admiring the beauty of the moon, she didn’t blink an eye,
shining bright yet lonely in the dark night sky.

The story of the moon and how it sacrifice,
the little sparkle it owns and doesn’t think twice.
The story of the moon and it’s loving heart.
the company of the lonely and the broken apart.

She fell in love with the moon,
like she falls for everything that walks away
She’s aware when it’s noon,
she’ll be broken begging it to stay.

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Anxiety

Anxiety

In a metaphorical bubble, it’s suffocating,
as anxiety kicks in, dominating.
You’re claustrophobic, it doesn’t make sense,
you’re drowning, over-thinking the future tense.

It’s anxiety.
Like you’re followed by a voice,
the destroyer of your life by no choice.
It’s why you shiver in fear,
it’s why you’re always unclear.

Waking up, hoping you’re alright,
waking up in an ocean with no land in sight.
It’s anxiety, your company in the dark and the light,
I guess some things will never be ‘alright’.

Concealed

Concealed

I was a flower in a beautiful field,
I was meant to bloom and glow.
My soul, my colours you concealed,
myself  was meant to grow.

In monochrome, I grew,
I survived, I knew.
You might have wiped off my hue,
but dear, darkness is where my roots grew.

Fight me, kill me, poison my soul,
I’ll live my life, I’ll reach my goal.
And if I didn’t, I’ll leave behind,
my seeds, my petals, are gems to find.

Venomous art

Venomous art

It’s brutal in my head,
It’s aching my heart.
Heavy tears never shed,
creative scenarios, venomous art.

It plays in my head on and again,
like a cassette tape, that failed to stay sane.
It’s a whispering demon I’ve befriended,
unintentionally,  unintended.

A company that joins you at the darkest hours,
an enemy that shows up with rose flowers.
Cutting deep into my soul that cries,
blown  kisses and unsaid good-byes.

Wake up, fight it harder than ever,
never a victory, whatsoever.
Accepting it is the only choice,
after all, what’s louder than a voice?

Where?

Where?

Where do I run to,
when I’m running from my own soul.
How do I skip through,
decayed memories turning to coal.

Where do I run to,
when I’m scared at night.
Will changing the lens I see through,
turn my black ink into white?

Where do I run to,
when it’s a war in my head,
loud voices and cries that grew,
like fires in a dry field that spread.

Where? Where do I run to?

Birthmark

Birthmark

“Do not cry over spilled milk”, they said.
“It’s okay, move on”, they hushed me and fled.
In the barren land, they left me alone as I bled,
memories, pain, regret, spurt out of my veins instead.

It’s the memories. The past that never let go,
the soul that nags me, to feed it to grow,
and one day, it’s welcomed to the show.

I would change it if I could, I’d go back and say no,
I wouldn’t let that kid hit me with snow,
I’d value myself, I’d glow,
and I wouldn’t let that lady bring me low.

I wouldn’t let you act like I’m invisible to your brown eyes,
I wouldn’t hold back my anger, and overlook your lies,
I’d shed no tears, I’d take no advice,
and If you hurt me, I leave, I won’t think twice.

It’s the past…
It’s the past that beats inside me like a second heart,
It’s the pain, that tears me every time apart.
It’s the memories that accompany me in the dark,
It’s a blemish, as long-lasting as a birthmark.