Again I'm here counting on the mess I've created,
Counted on the foolish dreams I've watched.
Again I'm here regretting for what I've become,
For what I've done.
Again I'm here fearing the consequences
Where neither today is secured nor tomorrow.
The past is doomed among the insecurities.
People are indeed always there,
People are always there whenever you want to be hopeless,
To kill the ray of hope.
People are always there whenever you want to lose
The pieces of significance, all that you ever had,
To wipe away those pieces.
People are indeed there to dive into your scars
To make them fresh,
To create wounds on your flesh.
Never killing, just making you die every day.
YOU ARE READING
Tales Of Hopeless Romantics: Imperfect Poetic Journey Of Love And Life
Poetry"My love was as cruel as my nightmares, and it was as beautiful as my daydream, which never dare to turn itself into reality, neither did it ever ended like a daydream, the agony kept hanging me like that of half hope, the hope kept hanging me like...
