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"To live is to suffer; to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."
Friedrich Nietzsche

Some say life is a mirror..

Whenever he whistled his eerie tune,
he would always tell me,

'It's my death hymn.'

But, then a grin would appear on his face.

I can recall it was a cold and wet Sunday evening.
I saw him, all sullen sitting on a bench and to
this day, I remember him saying,

"Beware of the owner,
I might take you into depression with me.
I should tattoo that upon my forehead."

He used to have such a beautiful garden,
and he went on to say,

"Welcome to my garden of gloominess,
but I hope you do not stay for long,
because I sent no invitation. Can't you see
my flowers are bleeding and the blood won't stop -
their scent of death has filled my air."

I sat in silence, not sure what to say,
so I just listened, as it seemed
life had put him through severe mental torture
and he was falling like rows of dominoes.
But, it made me realise, maybe I had been faking it too
and all this while, you had believed it all. 
I only let you see my smile, when I've been so tired,
from being who you want me to be.
Every time I make space for happiness,
sadness knocks the door of my sanity. 
Even those who claim to love me,
cannot see how there is a deadly drought
in my levels of serotonin,
so I'm crying whilst writing poetry,
pretending to be fine. 

He then said,
"My life is a mess and I am the creator of my chaos." 

It reminded me about
when they ask me to express myself,
but they fail to comprehend my torment,
so I feel silence is a better option.
I wish I was stronger than this,
and I could sulk in the red room of pain for a while.
They say everything starts at home,
including heartbreak and coldness.
I still remember my mother's lullabies,
silenced by my father's ferocity. 
I wonder if things would be different, 
if I was born on the other side of the world.
A different family, a perfect home,
an enriched childhood. 

But with this dysfunctional mind,
every night, anxiety tucks me into bed.
It's a rollercoaster ride with demonic entities.
How can I explain when,
you asked me what my problem was, 
but now you're not listening to me.
It's not me pushing people,
it's them pushing me away!
My problem is not the world,
it is my own mentality that is torturing me.
Doubt has left me sleeping on withered roses.
Their thorns cutting deep like sharp shards of glass.
There's a time when I questioned my existence.
Wondering if there was any value in breathing,
but I was too afraid to die.

Lost in my own anguish, he turned and asked,

"How do I let go of the pain?"

He paused and then softly said,

"No medication can heal childhood sorrows.
How do I let these thoughts go,
because unstable platforms have disabled my foundations.
I want to be neither a saint nor a sinner,
I want to be hidden from societal judgement.
Will I find closure from these chains of pressure.
I'm a titanic sinking deep in the waters of no return,
I beg you don't leave me alone in this room of doom.
I feel abandoned, so let me forget myself 
and rest in this pit of self pity.
I've become a stranger in my own home,
afraid I may drag you down into my darkness.
I bet happiness would be my friend if I was unkind.
I wish I had an eraser to correct all of my mistakes.
but It's not me who is indifferent.... It's the world."

Then he got up and left,
I didn't know what to say, as he walked away.
I never saw him again after that.

I looked up to the sky and saw the sun appear.
Life is a series of records on a gramophone
of memories playing on loop every day.
Sometimes it's a repetition of melancholic piano,
but sometimes it's full of joy and makes you want to dance.

But the most important thing is -
we are in control of the music we play..
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