Trapped

This abandoned asylum

within me;

Consists of horrors,

Consists of what 

no one wills to see.

Frosty walls 

of neglected desires

Senses are on

never ending pyres.
Mirror shows

What none of my belongings knows
My bruises; my bleeding wrist

My swollen eyes; my clenching fist.
I’m trapped in my own world unlit

Where I’m a victim

Where I’m a culprit.

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Give up on giving up

No self help books,

No drugs; last night you took,

No meals that you skipped

No suicide notes that you ripped.


No one, you know, will be of any help

In this war between you and yourself.


No love can save,

You’re your own mind’s slave.

You are:

An epitome of destruction;

A haunted site of construction

A funeral of a living,

An indescribable feeling,

A person responsible for massive killings,


Killings of desires;

Now even living tires.


Befriend yourself in this world where;

No one is to rely on

No one is to care


It’s you, only you who can save yourself

So cry for no love;

Ask for no help. 

Multiple Personalities

You consist of

Not just flesh, blood and bones but,

Also, multiple personalties.

One that has recently lost its innocence,

One that has an appetence to reject your realities.

One that often makes you feel suicidal,

And one that makes you deal with social formalities.

One commands you to give up;

One pleads you to give up on giving up.

One makes you want to kill,

One questions your morality.

One does whatever voices in your head ask you to;

One believes in meditation and sanity.

One wants you to speak about your illness;

And one says:

“Silence should be the priority” 

Possibility

Mere a possibility is left for the words,

For the screams of me, in my cupboard,gone unheard.

My wounds are to be hidden and not to be shone;

Sometimes who I really am is someone unknown.

Mere a possibility is left for the pains,

I feel like I’m a human;

A human who’s chained.

I need to bury; must not be expressed,

I don’t want anybody to know I’m depressed.

Who I was is now a dead memory;

That cheeful person.

Who turned it to a history?

I strongly feel,

Destruction is no such big deal.

So I must destroy,

My only mind’s desires, 

My only heart’s joys.

So that when life destroys it for me,

I won’t feel a thing,

I won’t care to see;

How dead I am with no possibility to live.

I’ll forget myself.

I’ll forgive.

Adolescence

My curiosity,My innocence

My unanswered questions about adolescence.

Why is it so terrible inside?

Why does my adolescence make no sense?

A fake face that I don’t own;

My lost personality over which I mourn

A couple of immortal wounds

That can’t be shown.

How long shall I carry these flesh and bones?
I sure abhor to be this way;

What I want, can’t possibly say.

What if I get judged by you? 

It’s lie that I should always be true.

I feel like a flightless bird;

This sky isn’t for me.

I feel like I’m part of a herd.

Individual me is who you can’t see.
Self destruction

Self rejection

Self harm is my new addiction.
Monsters, in my head, dance

This adolescence makes no sense.

Speak

What a friendly violence!

This that I call never ending silence.

Past memories are like graves;

I often visit.

A circle of friends; A square of family;

Everywhere I misfit.

I’m told to speak.

But when I speak;

Why am I considered weak?

My mind is terrible; full of voices.

Reminding me of my terrible choices.

Every morning is like a lost battle;

No, I don’t complain about people because

My own mind has become so fatal.

My poisonous thoughts,

To me, were taught.

My sleepless nights,

My own skin bites,

My so called friends,

Come and go like trends.

Whom shall I speak with?

The whole world is deaf.

My monsters are all I have.

Unfair! Incredibly unfair!

How unfair! Incredibly unfair

Who you’ve turned to is a self slayer.

No, not your fault at all

Inside of you, lives an inaudible growl.

You often ask yourself

“Am I who I used to be?”

“Is my old self mere a history?”

None of your childish dreams came true;

Growing up is what you wanted to experience;

Growing up is what has made you new.

So new that no mirror recognizes you;

Look what the world has done to you.

Life is what has happened to you.

Get used to it,

Get used to live a lie,

Get used to fake being alive;

Because you’re too dead to die.