A Book Of Rants.

Her

She sprouted in this unknown garden. A place where there was no space for opinions. Unable to fly, they cut off her wings, and ripped away the real her.

The her that desired something, someone.

As she ran aimlessly in this unfamiliar story whose author wasn't her, pausing and playing only when it was written to - she could see joy and craze in the eyes of kids who were so contrasting.

She bloomed and withered swallowing hate, tears, each and every drub thrown at her frail self - thinking it would increase her efficacy but no. She became what they call a monster.

The cold her awoke, The one who didn't include wariness anymore. Numb as ice she was, her heart did not beat anymore.

She got higher and higher, She went higher and higher but her interior hated the potential that took over, all because society looked down upon the beauty of the kindness she was offering.

She'd rise and rise, she'd loathe and loathe.
And the moment peak reached, the realisation of becoming heartless hit her.
Regretting, she longed for change. But it was now fiercely belated to become the her she had lost, to transmute the her that world told her to become.

And though people thought she had stopped aching, all that would pass through her body was agony. Right in the brightness of when she'd seek becoming the light in another's life, her shadows merge unwieldy, swallowing her down in every way as she prayed to be okay.

She no longer wished to fly, become the top. She no longer wished to be that person who simply does not care.
But she didn't want to care either. She didn't want to gleam either. Not the gleam that self-slaughters, enables her shadows to devour her.

She'd smile at herself in the mirror - "smile. Why are you hesitating? isn't this what you wanted?"

She'd cry at herself in the mirror - "cry. Why are you afraid? Isn't this what you wanted?"

But it was never really what she wanted, it was never the life she wished for.
She never desired bodily numbness and a cold exterior who people had become afraid of. The life she would've chosen, it'd be so different. As self-less as it could get and just so different.

But now she no longer desired living.

She couldn't declare she wasn't aware, she couldn't declare that she was unable to make a stand. All she could do was mourn and criticize herself as the world pointed fingers behind her back.

And when she endeavoured getting herself out of the rope around her neck, it only clasped tighter. The shadows would come back, the darkness would devour again. It would say,

"I am you, you are me.

let's become one body, 


we keep clashing this way, let us help you become steady.

accept it sooner, and bring yourself ease.

I am you, you are me,


now it's impossible to break free"

And so she did. She gave in. She accepted them as a part of herself. A part of herself that only caused her to despise the remains of her.

Soon, her only desire was death, she didn't acquire living.
It wasn't something one would want, right?

Because what was the point?

Time went on, her sorrow grew, her bulb turned as dull as it could get.

Out of space, she felt. The need to cry and Question her existence, she felt.

Because the shadow, that certain part of her never left her side. It made her question if the hard work she puts into life - was it really worth it? 

Though, she never got an answer back. She never needed an answer back.

Because what that one murk told her always stood the same. And maybe she didn't want it to change.

Even now - the world feels like a maze to her. Her heart feels like a maze to her, Unlocking new paths and emotions every now and then, its never easy.


Thought's can be so confusing. Hers always were. But overthinking was an hobby. What should she do now, she wonders. Should she extend living? Dragging the throbbing shadow along? When will she know what to do with the short life of hers? Would it really be worth it to be doing something she loves? wouldn't death part it away from her anyway, she wonders.


In this maze where her heart sinks into breaking memories, she stands still whilst everyone else seems to be stalling around with no worry. How long is sand going to be stuck in her hourglass?

Looking around, she watches goals and achievements that belong to everyone but her.

She's afraid to become who she once was. But does a part of her misses that her?

maybe.

She feels gloomy. She feels sad. 

It's okay not to be okay, right?

Sometimes she wants an answer

but maybe its better not to get one.