Letters of Thorns and Bloodied Ink.

Consequences of letting a hand hold your heart,

Is now you have a crushed, rusty image reflecting in the mirror. Asking questions why you couldn't hold it yourself when you constantly felt the pain all along?

Knowing answers of the questions went unheard,

Is now that you have a voice that's been heard by many, praised by some but understood by none.

Giving out love with exchange to heal wounds,

Is now that you have bruises and cuts and a body that's numb.

Trembling and calloused palms, placed on face to hide the tears that says, 'I tried and couldn't help but fall!' It is not the skin not the body not the smile that i want to redo it all,

But the audacity, the ideology and minds of those fuckall-s.

The laughter echoing in the valleys of promises,

have started sounding so much synonymous to guilt, regret and majorly delusional despair.

Writing and scrambling, ink to water, breaking days into years. Finding solace in longing and chaos in sun rising. Neither did i nor did you expected just a memory is capable to pin us down on the floor, making us grab our stomach and cry oceans for the ones who are gone.

It doesn't come with words alone,

betrayal sometimes is itself;

a mortal soul!

This will go on. The cycle of falling in love with eyes and a gentle touch and their warmth. Some sustain with trust and some miserably pray for a miracle to dance with her one last time in the dim-lit hall.

A more confusing poetry goes to bin, crumpled and being rewritten, only to find itself saved in name of memoirs of forgotten paths to way back home.