Oh you, with the bottle of sour liquor in your hands.
Swaying back and forth, on the pretense of happiness.
Are you only ever happy when you are drunk?
Sailing away from pain on a boat of glass, know this:
Pain has a sour-sweet sensation:
Just like your bottle.
Oh you, who have never known true happiness.
Only that extracted from the bottom of a vessel;
That bottomless vessel.
I ask, do you know what pain really is?
Or do you only know what you feel?

Oh you, listen well:
Doomed are the critics of the world.
Doomed am I, you say.
Doomed also is that liquor trapped in your hands
Doomed also, are you, trapped in the hands of liquor.

They told me the sky changed colors every time you looked up. They said you could touch the stars if you stood on your toes and reached real high. They told me the world was round and green and it spun and spun and spun.
They were wrong.
The sky is blood-thirsty and tells me to stay away. The stars are rude, indifferent and unreachable And the world doesn't spin; it rocks back and forth and back and forth; until, I tip over the edge.

The Past Me.

When I look at yesterday,
eyes bright and souls,clean,
Do sing the song of true happiness-
not this sorrow,
this tedious sorrow.
My heart aches for the past.
But shies away from it.
For I am so much more
And so much less,
then I used to be.

The stories we tell.

When I was a real girl, I smiled wide for the camera. Teeth and all. My mom took the pictures and I stood very very straight. Bag on my shoulders and a white hairband pulling my hair back . I hugged the house helper- my partner in crime- tight and then jumped on the bus, helped by two sets of firm hands. I sat in the window seat and on the way back played games of paper with my mates.


When I was a real girl, I woke up excitedly every morning, eyes brimming with the hope of a good day. I braided my hair back and never forgot to put in the Harry Potter book in my bag. I did not hug my partner in crime because you cannot hug people that are not alive. Two firm sets of hands helped me on the bus, but this time my own. I sat in the window seat and on the way back, sung songs.


When that real girl died, I stopped  smiling for the camera. And I woke up empty.
When the real girl died, I cried every night to not go to school.


One day, with eyes hollow and smiles plastered on my face, taped too tightly to get them off, I left everything I knew behind. The days of paper games were gone.


The girl who died inside came to a whole new world. Because in this world, she was not dead. In this world, she could start again- alive.


One day, a dead girl rose form her grave and started smiling. Not with teeth. Those days would not come for long. But a whisper of a smile. A little hope amidst un-ending chaos.

Hostile.

You can spent so much time away from people.
You can create your distances, you can build your walls.
But they come with hammers and break it down.
They come with fires burning red in their hearts and tear your little walls apart.
Not to talk. They never come to talk. They come-
To see what's left and what's been torn apart.

The Peril.

Watch with unseeing eyes,
The tide of time.
That comes ever so slow;
Ever so fast
The peril, which lies near at hand,
Warns against the dying of the sun.
Those who know, they run.

Nostalgia.

When I was young, I collected clouds in tin pots when it rained.
I traced rainbows with my finger, in the sky they stained.
In my palms, I trapped little stray beams of light
And together, they made such a beautiful sight.


When the sun fell, Someone filled the sky with scattered stars.
I would count each one, finding them, so lovely and bizarre.
To them and blades of grass, I told my tales.
Huge kingdoms, handsome princes, and laughter in gales.


That time is gone, my stories are done
But in my heart, I still know, that when the sun
Falls, the stars wait for that little child
Who once told them of adventures, mighty and mild.