Every little devastation matters, every tear means something.
In the larger scheme of the universe, somewhere far away,
Its all adding up to a giant mountain of grief,
And all you can do is -- try to run away from it.

'You are someone to be loved', they say to you.
But they don't finish the sentence... it ends with
'...Just like everyone else'
You are not special,
No one is,
You are not extraordinary,
Why, you're not the first person on this planet.

Angry words make poetry!
Maybe they do, maybe they don't,
They're just words,
They shouldn't be taken so seriously.

He looks magnetic,
Like the first ray of the sun - its called 'Arush' in Hindi, someone by that name has told me.
Back to him - he is the most beautiful colour of skin,
The colour you cannot help but love,
He is the most beautiful thing you can ever imagine,
He is the saviour,
He will heal,
And, if he doesn't,
Then there will be no saving you or this 'meshugah' soul of yours!

There's darkness in him,
there's darkness all around him,
that attracts you, draws you in.
You don't want to take care of him,
you've had enough of that in your life.
If that's the case then why are you drawn to his darkness,
it will only destroy you - slowly but surely,
it will creep into your heart and make your blood run cold...
Until you stop breathing.

She paints,
she's angelic,
she is an old soul - a wise soul,
but she doesn't draw you in.
You just want to watch her from a distance.
Why don't you want to be a part of her?
Why don't you want her to be a part of you?

He is a snake.
You were at peace without him,
but the mountain of grief wouldn't have it.
So, it sent him your way.
He now lives in your heart,
and he talks about himself all the time.
He thinks you need him and
he needs you,
when the truth is--you don't need each other.
Why can't you just leave.

Its like molten lava inside this body,
It flows through your veins,
and its trigger is a fickle whore.
She opens her legs for just about anyone,
and there you are - caught unawares.
If only you could find a way to expend this lava,
it would set you free.
All these diseases that you have,
from not being able to express yourself creatively,
they would all be gone--once the lava is expended...
whilst the lava is being expended.

You say whilst when you're talking,
when you're typing in your "right mind" --
you say while when you're typing with your
"unright mind"


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