Left behind like the wind
May be not too far away
left behind like the wind
Like the moon light shadows me
Everywhere I go
There is a piece of agony
That follows me
Left behind like the wind
A stream that rushes in my body
Not knowing what to do
Fireflies dance in my head
yet no light in my mind
Left behind like the wind
Where the stone is stuck deep inside
Even a single leaf so still, not to move
as the leaf of life sleeps upon my lips
Left behind like the wind
blank stares
streaming tears
the tip of the pen
piercing my skin
Why am I doing this?
I know this is wrong.
I know I'm going to be mad.
I know I'm going to hate what's left.
So why?
I need to feel something
when I can't feel anything.
so the pen
scratches the surface.
heartache
pen goes deeper.
sadness
scratch marks.
anger
blood.
Why?
Why do I do it?
Why can't I use other methods?
I wrote this poem right?
Why can't I do that?
I need to feel something
I need to feel pain
It's what I deserve
So pen scratches cover my arm
I have to hid them now
hide the evidence
"nothing's wrong"
"I'm okay" "I'm fine"
hide the evidence
I'm not hurting
and no one would care if I was
so why would I share?
I need to feel something
anything
aren't there other ways
so why do I choose the pen
time and time again
the pen
the scratches
the blood
the scars
the pen
showing my pain
disappered and covered
by my sleeve
Pain
It explodes through my knee
as I fall to the ground
hoping I didn't do it again.
Everyone surrounds me
Asking me questions
making sure I'm okay.
I'm not.
But they don't know that
Other's keep telling me
everything is fine,
nothing happened.
We were all wrong.
Again.
My world turned upside down
for the second time.
The hurdles put up once again
ready for me to knock them back down.
The minutes tick by slowly
as I wait to hear my name.
They say count back from
10
9
8
7
6
5
blackness
Pain is infinite.
In my knee
In my head
In my stomach
everywhere
All I want to do is sleep.
But the pain is too extreme
and the nurses won't let me.
Pain
As I jump over
hurdle after hurdle
waiting patiently
until it is my turn to be happy again
9 months they said
9 months until I can play again
That's 273 days
That's 6552 hours
That's 393,120 minutes
That's 23,587,200 seconds
Until it is over
Every step
every second of
every day, working,
hoping ill be better
by the time we start again.
Free from pain.
I was tying my shoes
Wrapped with thoughts of death
Wondered if the stone beneath me
Would appreciate the human dire
Splashed over it like ketchup
And no, it wasn’t thoughts of suicide
For I know death is not really what I want
Maybe I do write letters sometimes
About my last day on this ground,
but they're just words caused by pain
And yet I can’t help but wonder
If murderers do feel fear when they kill
I wonder if the sin of lying is equal to killing
the broken camera in my hand,
the burnt film in yours,
is this our end?
what if i still want more?
the shards of glass fallen down,
i see my reflection torn,
the sadness turns to a frown,
where to have you gone?
colours are everywhere,
lights and fireworks,
Oh! such a beautiful stare,
but why suddenly this dark?
this swallowing sadness,
please save me, i'm lost,
an inescapable deep abyss,
it feels cold, as empty as trust.
is this me inside?
is this inside me?
i have no where to go,
where are the colours i once held onto?
it's all in monotone,
maybe black, maybe white,
i want to explore,
but i can't see any hope or light.
i see a little me who is vibrant,
what a pleasant sight,
i feel something vibrate,
and i wake up, with tears in my eyes.
-V.S
What have you done to me
Where was the girl
That tried to climb the cliff
Despite unfavourable conditions in there.
Why did the peak broke off
When were you seen
That made me believe in flame again
Even the one my kin couldn’t .
Who are you for real
Which gave hope for ice
That it could have an identity in sea
Although it gulped me down.
Tried it all
Parents scared of my thoughts
Have a lot of lives
A past say; not exactly
At the end all come to a point
Wouldn't say talent or hidden either
A curse to me, didn't like the things.
Was not exactly a beginner
Never thought I had it in me
The freer the verse the deeper the cuts
Good for nothing; Yeah I was
Why care about people did they cry with you
Too much stress too little time
I want some, at least one to hear.
That smiley exterior
Onwards from morn
Once you had worn
Now drabbly overlayed with
Its own sort. Lorn.
I refer to this manor.
Old; ghostly blown
Tempts none; be known!
Droopy, empty windowed. Of
Ravens outflown.
Lost in love,
yet still in love.
Oh, my
I've tried more than enough.
So let the wind take me.
Let it carry what I cannot.
Let me flow
far from my worries,
somewhere
I am free.
A young soldier, set loose in the real world Initial positivity clouding judgement,
like teargas
Ignorance, blinding like snow on a sunny day
Human interaction;
Like eyes,
a beautiful sight until
you zoom in
Every man for himself,
ignoring the cries of those affected
Isolation,
a savior from the chaos
Happiness becomes like a card trick,
the closer you look the
farther you get
Thoughts become a cancer, slowly corrupting your mind
Refuge becomes a prison,
trapping
you inside yourself
A young soldier,
consumed by his attempts to grapple with reality
Desperately pleading with lost dreams
A realization
Hidden by the dirt, finally uncovered
Peace lies beneath the stone
There's a storm in my heart
It has tattooed scars on my soul
I have seen the ugly face of a wound
It reeked bitterness
And in the cold dark pain
I felt something die inside me
Now I carry the carcass of dream
My hopes have deserted me
To crown me king of sorrow
My kingdom is brokenness
Pieces of me lie shattered and bruised
I have no song and no dance
I have become a forlorn statue
Time scorns at my disappointments
There is a part of me that no longer cries
It is buried deep inside gloom
I have become stone and desert
And when the arid winds blow
I cringe like a wounded animal
And howl in pain
Empathy, Sorrow, Guilt, Shatter
In the physical world, nothing really matters
Dead will be dead, the sufferers may not survive
Because, none could savour the "Grand Privilege Platter"
Pleasure, Love, Compassion, Discern
I want to unlearn all these concerns
Because shards of me die as the days slip
But what could one do,
If they aren't privileged enough to earn
She lay still,
within the rot of her festering limerence,
bleeding on clovers in the field beneath.
The red of the clovers
begins to darken with the crimson blood
spilling from her wrists,
as she fixes her gaze upon the lonesome stars above.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God."
She repeats internally.
She seems to find peace
in a sense of nihility,
though she desires death before being.
It's almost as she yearns for the feeling
of fester and decay,
eager for the obscurity ahead.
And with her final breaths,
she casts a parting glance
upon the clovers strewn below,
in search for any sign of luck
among her inevitable solitude.
A four leaf clover lay
within her stilled grasp.
Yet still,
dawn knows no delay.
Like a programmed robot
I move through each day
Smiling and nodding
In just the right way.
Pretending I'm happy
And life is just great
When the truth of the matter is
There's just too much on my plate.
I feel like I got cheated
Out of living a good life
I'm poor and alone
And I'll never be anyone's wife.
I'm like that lone shoe
You see lying on the road
Alone and discarded
Like an unwanted load.
People pass by me
Staring with pity
Torn and tattered
Not an ounce of pretty.
The shadows in my eyes
Portray a battle lost
Nightmares and insomnia
Show surrender’s cost.
The physical scars
Have healed without a trace
But the mental emotions
Are still written in my face.
I'm a programmed robot
Struggling each day
Trying to hold my head up
And wishing I could fade away.
I will do that—tomorrow.
I will change this—tomorrow.
I will fix that—tomorrow.
I will call them—tomorrow.
What a weight tomorrow carries—
the weight of uncertainty,
of all the things we leave undone,
of all the hope we ask it to hold.
It will be better—tomorrow.
It will be easier—tomorrow.
I will have the energy—tomorrow.
Motivation will come—tomorrow.
What a promise tomorrow remains,
despite all the painful nows,
all the broken todays,
all the forgotten yesterdays.
What will it be—tomorrow?
What will it bring—tomorrow?
What will change—tomorrow?
What will I become—tomorrow?
But what if tomorrow never comes
the way I keep asking it to?
What if I spend my whole life
waiting for the strength to live it?
Maybe the question was never
“What will tomorrow bring?”
Maybe it was always—
“What is the cost of waiting for it?”
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