Poeticwelkin

Mother, my pillow painted tears into blood today
It engulfed my misery, which I hid from you.
Mother, Last night, when you called me
The lights in my room were dim
In a corner, I was engulfed in the shiny wrapper of expectations
The walls were approaching from different directions.
It appeared I would be buried among the crumbled walls, just as I did with the rose you nurtured while I rubbed it into my palms; it died except I remembered its essence today.
Mother, I felt the pain that it gone through
How cruel we are, how we crush things that appear beautiful to take the essence, how cruel still I am, how I am crushing myself to take the best from me, how selfish I am till today to revolve around Pluto but I forgot I still had the moon.
Mother, I saw my diary today
Father gifted me while I cut the cake and sprinkled water to welcome and invite spring for the tenth year of the glorious moon.
Mother, Your sunflower is tired today
The bedsheet had witnessed your bud fall into a casket
The diary pages could not hold the essence of what I wrote then so it became a shroud of my expectations.
Mother, You called me today, and you asked me to celebrate the moon but it was eclipsed, You know about the latent of your flower, how his heart breaks so easily but you nurtured me to survive the rage of the Tsunami yet I couldn't hold myself when the rain hit me today.
Mother, I saw you smiling, and the little spectrum of Ray visited my crumbled room, the corner is filled with ashes now and I will rise as a Phoenix,
My skin is ephemeral but it has painted pain entirely
It will not outshine forever, I promise you, Mother.

Too positive people and too depressed people are exhausting. I like grey people—balanced, grounded, and real. Can’t you just be grey for once?

"Losing that one person you never even dated it's a different kind of heartache. You invest so much of your emotions, so much daydreams and hopes into someone who never saw you in the same light. You find yourself analysing every interaction
every word, trying to find a hint of something more.. It's like a rollercoaster of emotions, feeling so connected to someone in one day and utterly invisible the next. You keep asking yourself "where it went wrong?" even though it never really started. You were too much for just friends, but not enough to be anything more. And it leaves YOU there, wondering, trying to make sense of the feelings that were never reciprocated, and questioning if they ever noticed your affection, if they ever noticed your love at all..."

sukun mile to main aasmañ kharid lun
neend bechkar main khwab khareed lun

yun hi guzaar dii shab ek hi khayal mein
Rooh seench kar main raah aasan kharid lun

🍀🌴

Would love to interact.
Till 10:30 PM

Before you start blaming your fate, introspect whether you endured the adversities to deserve the thing.

Aur jab tum bas ek khawab the to mere behad hi paas the.

My skin is a map of fault lines,
and tremors threatening to split my voices
what little remains whole.
Darkness breeds in my marrow
like a plague of moths,
eating holes through the fabric
of who I used to be.

These cemetery moments I carve through my veins,I am both the grave and the mourner,
digging deeper into wounds when the sun is a little down and I, along with the not-so-bright moon, weep mercury tears.
My heartbeat ticks like a funeral bell
and I am nothing but a collection
of wounds wearing human form,
drowning in an ocean of my own
excavated veins.

I write the realm of words
and burn them into the ashes.
All the pain I hold seeps through my tears,
and my eyes sleep into the numbness till noon.
Palpitations of my being fluctuate
like a leaf in the pain of a tornado,
and I, and I crawl into the ashes.

Sunbeams crawl into my room
and confront the lingering winter—
a flask filled with water
drips the blaze of dissolved hopes into my eyes,
My fingers trace invisible letters over the ashes
on the mantelpiece frosted with misery,
while time drips from the ceiling
like melting wax, marking moments
I failed to catch it in my palms.

I have made my ribs as a cage of razor wire,
each breath dissipates my being a little more and tears screams through tissue-paper lungs,
Memories hemorrhage like broken veins,
spilling black ink across my skin
until I drown in my own ashes.
Night after night, I swallow glass-
the shard of thought cuts deeper
than the last. I have let my throat to become a graveyard of unspoken screams, rotting slowly in the acid of numbness.
Time doesn't heal; it festers.

Tum waqif na ho sake mujh se kabhi
Main apne gham kisi se bayan nhi.n karta

Now, we are a family of 1600+ people, I appreciate your presence, keep smiling and keep reading.

We are walking museums of trauma; ornamented with fragile flowers that nobody notices.

I breathe the misery and utter an ugly truth.

We hurt each other and feel we did nothing wrong.

He is an artist, his grief is the pleasure of others.

The coffee grows cold on my windowsill
much like the dreams I once held close,
the heartbreak is proof I dared to care.

The eyes see walking galleries
of lost chances and unexpected beauty,
the disappointment evidence I dared to hope.

The world spins on across my wilt
I wonder if pain isn't just love's shadow,
the bruises are proof I dared to love.