Tag Archives: Death

Blame games

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I saw pain standing under the streetlight
Smoking with lust
As love got drunk on the sidewalk
Never did the three get along
 
 
I saw mortality grinning on the death bed of a two year old
As life sat in between the legs of a sixty year old
Angels mocked youth from the far corner of the altar
Depression and anxiety worshiped to forget
 
No! everyone said
God, wouldn’t play such a game
But whatever, whatever cards you have, darling
We both know who is to blame

A tale everyone should know.

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Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

It is 3 am and I know things that little girls shouldn’t know

God is sniffing coke on the terrace

Satan is drinking the night away in the corridor

Angels are dancing in the living room

Religion is dead and your beliefs don’t count

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

Adonis and Aphrodite are getting it on in the bathroom

Humans keep chasing love

Love keeps chasing heartbreak

Every step humans take towards love

A grave dug out for a dead heart and soul, instead

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

Sanity does not exist and insanity is just another word

Your mind is a little bitch

It plays tricks on you when you least expect

Nothing is pure or sweet

Even your existence is impure and bitter

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

You get intoxicated to say the things you cannot say

Sober you is programmed to fit in

You lock yourself up in your house

With God, Satan and Angels

Talking about life and death

Oblivion and the past

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

Would you love or hate the people you claim to die for?

Knowing that in the end they’re nothing but bones and dust

Would you smile in the face of death next time

Knowing you lived a life that was a gradual demise

And I say, amen

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You were the poison I drank with my will
Trust me, I have injected heroin and morphine into my poor veins but did not get the peace I found with you
You resonated in my veins and laced my heart
I do not regret it
I will never regret it
The places where you jagged your claws in never healed
The wounds are fresh
In my wounds, blood thrives and pulsates in my broken veins
I kneel on the floor during these moments
Moments when I collapse
Seconds and I crumble to the ground
I end up saying your name as a prayer
I worship a ghost during that phase
I call out to a deity that granted me eternal life but could not damn me with temporary death
And I say, amen.

Pretty&Broken-8

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The noises grow louder and even the ticking of the clock gets on my nerves. I’ve been lying all day in bed thinking about life in general and about myself. It is one of those days where the path I have chalked out for myself doesn’t make much sense and I end up thinking whether I should change my course and run towards another direction?

It’s a case of running away-which I’ve done all my life-the faster I could the better it was because avoiding it only fueled me and countering it I knew my destruction was not far. Who on earth would like to be destroyed? I always thought that the faster you could get away from life, from people, from your problems and from yourself helped in surviving.

I often used to wonder if a bullet to the head was all I needed to end this chase. I still do and think it might be quiet feasible. It gets better but lately nothing is getting better. Hope for the hopeless is like trying to revive the dead with CPR, if you ask me simply that it does not work. I can sugar coat the life around people but I cannot sugar coat my life mainly, because I know the bitter core. I wouldn’t want to deceive myself.

It happened so suddenly that the world seemed suffocating and tiring. I wasn’t prepared for it and like all things that strike me out of nowhere so did this. It became suffocating and unbearable. I occupy very little space I can and even so, have reduced myself to a four walled chamber where only my thoughts engulf my existence. I cannot seem to get out of this and the more I try to be free, the more this world seems like a cage.
I really hope I get better. I really hope this too passes me by but for some reason, the optimist in me is dead. Whatever it is can hit me dead and I would be happier than ever, if I do not survive this depressive spell.

Pretty and Broken-6

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They say that in your broken places, you are stronger than before. I disagree.
You are not stronger but decayed. Your are plagued and infested in those broken places with hate, hurt, agony and pain. Yes! You are not stronger but in those broken places, you are dying.

What in the world is more stronger than a dead person?

Simply, feeling nothing is a blessing. You are dead in those broken places and you give it a positive name, ‘strong’. You know the truth and so do I. Humans have optimism to cover the bitter reality of life.

It is said that if a person loves the places you are broken and dejected from? It is love. No, if a person loves parts of you dead then it is love.
It is difficult to love the dead for long and sooner we forget about them. It is easy to love the living for presence makes it possible.

Dead or living, we all hope that someone might love us. Someone might cherish us. The only difference is, the living hope that it will come true and stay forever.
The dead hope it will come true but rot into nothingness, like everything.

Irony

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Somewhere out there a person under the grey sky is making rope from jute
Laboring away his life
Struggling to feed himself and be alive
Dodging death and poisons

Somewhere out there a person in his dingy little room is tying a noose
Preparing to embrace death
Deaf to life around him
Walking towards death and poisons

It’s ironic, you see?
Some struggle to live
While,
Others struggle to die.

Hate you to death <3

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I want to set you on fire
And watch you burn in pain
Smack your face on a brick wall
Slam it again and again

I want to skin you
And watch you bleed to death
Fill your mouth with razor sharp blades
Make you swallow each

Because, I hate your fucking guts
And I will break you down to nothingness
I’ll inflict psychological wounds
Destroy your mind and then your soul

I will make you live when you crave for death
I will elevate you just to bring you down

I dedicate this slam poetic piece to you, love
Because you make me want to slam you down
Six feet under the ground

Don’t look back

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Don’t look back. Didn’t I tell you? Just don’t look back. It never does you any good. Hear me? It never does. Never look back. I keep on repeating this but you never seem to listen. If you have to close a door then shut it behind you but never look back.

If you drop something then leave it there. No point in going back to pick it up. Leave it. Don’t look back. Never look back. I keep on repeating this but you never hear me. Listen to me once. Don’t look back. If the voices call you and scream your name just don’t look back.
Don’t open the doors you have once closed. Never open them. You closed it off for a reason in the first place. Never chase anything that will lead you back. Never do. Keep you face forward and your eyes always ahead. If you have to look sideways then do, but never look back.
Looking back never does anyone good. It doesn’t. The most awful part is that looking back can be consuming. You wouldn’t want to be consumed so deeply and not get out.
Make it simple and never look back. Cut off all that holds you back and never look back. Never do. You left it for a reason there so now learn to walk ahead.
It might try dragging you from your collar or your legs but please don’t look back. No matter how desperate the call is never look back. It can play manipulative tactics to convince you to look back but please, hear me, never do.

For, looking back will only haunt you and bring pain. Hear me, never look back.

*He kept on repeating these words every single day on the sidewalk be it summer, winter or autumn.*

Dead or Alive

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Wanted dead or alive
My soul
I think I lost it
Sold it for a few grams of hash
The buyer laughed as I showcased it for so low

But
I think I killed it a long time ago
It was dead when I sold it
Drowned it in alcohol
Burnt it with cigarettes

Wanted dead or alive
My soul
If you find it let me know

I became

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This is what I became.
A dedication to someone dead.
An ode to all the addictions.
A poem to the heartbroken.
A story to the suicidal.
A piece of prose to the depressed.
A rhyme to those who loved.
A quote to the distressed.
I became immortal in the heart of many mortals.
I became the poison.
I became the cure.
I painted my soul and whispered to the heaven above
This is how I will cherish
This is how I will perish.
This is what I became.