"Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its root into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write." Rainier Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Monday, January 16, 2012

Hard to Deal

Some days suck.
They just squeeze the life force out of you,and leave you as a bare shell.A bare minimum of what you had been.You are no more happy and people who tell you 'Life is beautiful' you feel like punching them in their faces.

Actually i would be really happy if i did feel like an empty shell,i pray for the day when i wouldn't feel anything. Why can't my heart just go numb,why can't it stop feeling things..everything! Can i just give it a shot of Lignocaine!

All i want to do sometimes is to sit and be by myself,as if i am in mourning,grieving for something that has died! That has died in me....and left a huge void for me to deal with. And beside that void is a pile of rubble,if you see closely you can find pieces of a broken heart,a few shiny promise of love..whose lovely whispers have died down slow death,and also those shy smiles and glances with hints of love,faded and old and perhaps grown ugly,repulsive even.

And you blame yourselves,the people whose memories lie in that rubble and also everything in the universe.Those nights when u had slept with your last words of the day as "Good night,Love you too" had been replaced by nights when u stare into nothingness and think about how far you had come,and how lonely you have become. You promise yourselves 'Never again' and still a voice speaks from the deep gorges 'Please God have mercy..there must be someone!Ain't there'

And wait for sleep.

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