"Where is your smile?"
"Where is that spark in your eyes?"
I screeched, at no one in particular,
none to hear my cries.
The walls didn't break.
Why would they?
I can't find any gods down here,
no will to pray.
Peace before the storm they said,
but there's no calm.
The storm inside me breaking barriers,
and there's no balm.
A storm of regret, a storm of guilt,
like a burden on my chest.
A pain so deep,
impossible to digest.
Why doesn't the agony stop?
They said it will,
but why do I feel worthless still?
The unsettling emptiness,
is overwhelming.
The high of the nights,
relatively is more helming.
"Burn in hell!", they said.
And I feel the burns of hate now.
Is this a hell then?
I know, I deserve it somehow.
Is this the self loathe talking?
Or is this the same storm?
Am I over thinking?
Is 'hell' really my new dorm?
There are many hands to hold,
but I don't grab any.
I don't know why,
even the most loving, seems phoney.
I collapse,
I fall to gravity each second.
The forces inside me pushing my walls.
A pressure that can't be reckoned.
The silence is ear splitting.
But why aren't the others bothered?
Am I the only one with a mind,
having a hurricane bolstered?
Wherever my gaze falls,
why does everything look uncompleted?
There's no race,
then why do I feel defeated?
Knock! knock! knock! knock!
I keep knocking.
No doors open,
my own soul mocking.
The gloomy depths are pulling me down.
It's like an awful enigma.
I don't understand still,
whether it's gravity or just Karma.
The darkness is eating me whole,
shredding me bit by bit.
In some twisted way,
I know the crimes I commit.
And so far, I did nothing.
I don't know how to better.
You know how I feel?
I don't know either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Thoughts of a Juvenile
PoetryWords are sharper than knife they say. Yes it is true. Some perfectly moulded good words can both make and break a heart easily. A poem is a group of such perfectly moulded words given wings to fly. They fly through the mind and heart easily. A hob...
