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Showing posts from 2021

life taking me

  I was too afraid (or maybe too conscious) to take my life, so I let life take me, piece by piece, part by part. Now this may sound totally a hypothetical emotional philosophy but if u know me , like if u ‘know’ know me for more than few years now and you know exactly how much the significance of thought spiral is then you know it’s not just a bleak philosophy , it has physical practical causes : ) And I will never share the pain because I don’t feel it anymore; I feel it’s absorbed around my walls and that this   pain is all mine not yours, maybe suffering is mutually ours. I read it somewhere people who suppress pain and anger are more prone to diseases because by suppressing it they train the body to hide their symptoms too, which I feel is quite true. And the inverse is also true. When you don’t hide away your pain , when you get angry, get sad more often than your body also starts showing the same pathetic courage, of being brave in being sad , as you do.   Yo...

Ultra-violet

  "I know how people gently push you forward so that you move ahead, and they don't hurt you. But you need shoving, not pushing. And I will do that." “You are all the colors in one, at full brightness.” _Theodore Finch . . .  The most endearing character from any book that Jennifer Niven has written is Theodore Finch. And Theodore Finch says, "We will Graduate from high school soon; we all will leave this city. Don't you wanna know what this city has?" It's soooo natural and neural and genuinely appropriate to question. Sometimes I just want to hang on to these books, these Novels no matter how depressing they may be. And what is depression if it isn't questioning what most people choose to ignore. If it isn't letting yourself question the choices, you are constantly making for yourself while being under the influence of someone else. If it isn't questioning the very thought that God exists, love exists because in my experi...

Demons (vol II)

. . . A question to you To the demon that stays in my head To the letter I wrote to which I never gave an end To the book that gave me hope in dead To the pessimism that baked my day red And I said, " Do you love me enough to have stayed this long inside my head?" The book, the letter, the pessimism then fell quiet, They got tired from my constant need  to clarify. But my demon chuckled and gave a cry, "You are a cathedral of hope that is dead, And you would rather burn yourself red Than change your locks and be fed  With Love, the only medicine to your sad." And I think that My demon loves me more , (my bad) With a teary glare and a little courage that I always lacked, I whispered to my demons, " You have my permission not to ever love me back." _s.k.

1 more than this ∞

. . .  Will you try again? One more time  One more than this infinite  This infinite of questions in your mind Once again will you try ? Hear me cry? One more time. One more than this infinite  When I will choose to stay quiet, light and far away from your bright. Will you try again? Let your mind shout inside my brain. One realistic, one saving the other brain from the emotionless pain. One more time? Once again, than the infinite The lost clouds over my decaying sight, blaming me too. To have stared longer than you should, at those cruel eyes. That froze my light, to let me die To not think about the lies but the truth hiding in deny. Will you try again? Push my walls into glass grains Throw my demons in vain Cry me out walking through a dark lane To the Life he Lives To the Life I lie And to live through me without any gains To the the vessel that only drains,  the optimism on my desert of blame. Will you try? One more than the infinite. _S.K . . . "Pouring o...

Drafts.

     " The moon hung over the planet Earth,  a dead thing over a dying thing." _John Fowles. . . . The three grey dots keep blinking...running... sometimes you catch them there, when they are blinking; but some 'most of the times' you don't know that they keep on trailing and running and blinking when the night turns to day... hoping you are still asleep away; pretending those words weren't for you; but typing , vigorously to frame a skeleton of a perfect picture... But nope...you won't know...'you' won't know..how many times people type out their emotions, expectations, empathy because they can't keep it in...in their mind and heart...and how many more times they backspace their regrets, regards, reassurance because they can't bring it out...out on a blank feeling less text. Some confessions, cryings, cravings find their fate getting erased by a backspace...but some..few... words, wishes, wondering, wantings gain courage, and enough Le...

Kalopsia

  Kalopsia_ The delusion of things being more beautiful than they are. . . . And I feel , somehow I am a kalopsia, caught in a kalopsia in this kalopsiatic world. My brain hurts ; like a fog over a lake during a cold morning , kalopsia hover like a fog on my waters. Convince me otherwise, if u can.                                  . . .

Enneagram Test

"Mental illness is like fighting a war where the enemy's strategy is to convince you that the war isn't actually happening." . . .  So I took the enneagram test few days back and I still can't get over the results. I m type "Two" personality; the helper/ the giver/ the sensitive. I looked up on the internet and found the song "Two" from "sleeping at last"  was for people with type Two personality like me.  And you know what ? tht song kills me and yet makes me feel understood. Those lyrics, I can relate to tht song not because I am the one saying them but I wish I was the one they were said to; those are the words that I say to fictional characters in my mind hoping they'll say tht back too. "Sweet heart, you look a little tired." This got me crying, the very first line. You get tht? How accurate this song is for people of type Two. The YouTube comments section was worth reading , more than the video itself. I wanna shar...

Anyways

                     Anyways; What is depression actually? What is anxiety ? Or what's the difference between both of them?  Actually the mother of all these less cared for cliche diseases has been overthinking. And I happen to do it a lot; and I can perfectly tell you how it feels. There are hundred thoughts on my mind, tht I share only with my walls. And there is Just one thought tht actually makes it to my mouth ; only one thought tht I can say to one real person. Rest 99 thoughts stay up in my mind all day and all night. Someday I'll write about tht one thought but not today. So a boy committed suicide. He wasn't unhappy, he was doing good in studies and his game. He got a good job , was fulfilling his career goals but he still found a motivation to die ; which means you can never satisfy your need of a perfect Life even if it's perfect. Which means even the normal bright one wanted to die sometime. Which means depression/ ...

Paraprosexia

I like being alone. it's like i have a full time to think about the good bad decisions of my life ; the times i created memories and times i ruined .it's like i have time to re-evaluate life and it's meaning, to re think whatever i did and i regret; things i am proud of ,things i am not. i love being alone. but yet when i see a group of friends chat over a cup of coffee, group of friends laughing while making weird poses fr camera, or best friends getting married, or a mom and daughter dancing on a wedding song. when i see these things, i think and i feel......although i love being alone......i dont want to.  Tht moment when you realise your usher love for sadness is letting you , to not let youself be the way you want yourself to be. you feel me? when trying to solve everyone's problem and doubts about life make you wonder how bad you have messed up your life, tht no extent of motivation can make you even a little hopeful . Tht even happiness scares you. you feel me? T...

minutiae (1)

  toska - (n.) a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, spiritual anguish “it’s okay” “that’s alright” I find her saying this quite a few times; and I wonder how many times and to how many people she has being saying this all her life. To people who somehow screwed her up. You know what is ‘depression’? Naah… not that ‘I’ll die’, hundred pills, sleeplessness, pessimism, hate. Depression is not when you are clearly sad, it’s something that is inside. Sometimes the person is happy, talking, sleeping, loving and still, you know, they don’t seem lively. I don’t know if that is depression but it is surely something next to it. And she feels that. She feels this thing; ‘being absolutely fine and not okay’. I feel it that she feels this. You heard about that half empty and half-filled theory? That pessimist sees it as half empty and optimistic sees it a half full. She is that kind of person to whom if I ask this question, she’ll give me a fifteen minutes long lecture on life ph...

Whelve

Whelve to bury something deep inside; to hide. the 'He'  (once wanted to say)   "I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger.                                                              I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns, Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I'd write about you a lot more than I should."   I'd write to the point of  suffocation.  -Benedict Smith,        "l want to be a mystery, yet be known I want to be together, yet alone Is it too much to ask, to be famous yet unknown? To be a wanderer, yet have a home?" -Kara Douglas "they say lavender softens anxiety  and i wonder whether i can plant a garden   so dense in your mind that the knots in your chest unravel  and never tighten aga...

minutiae

  minutiae /mɪˈnjuːʃɪiː,mʌɪˈnjuːʃɪiː/ noun 1. the small, precise, or trivial details of something No matter where she looked for love, whose lips she’ll ever touch; no matter how and when she’ll find that one, I’ll still be here. No matter who she shares her happiness with, I know, when she’ll feel sad, hopeless, tired, hurt, painful, lost, doubted or lifeless she will come to me. Yes, me. Not that guy she first met. Not that girl with short hair. But me. And that is enough. It is enough. For me to be there when no one is, is enough. To be able to share her tears is valuable than being the one sharing happiness. I wish to be the one who can make her smile when she is crying. I wonder how all one sided love songs are so wrong and unrealistic. They start with how one loves the other one who is already committed and how they can move mountains and swim oceans for them and then they end with cursing that one because they did not realize their love. This is purely horse shit. ...

Sillage

S i l l a g e /siːˈjɑːʒ/ Noun                            1.the degree to which a perfume's fragrance lingers in the air when worn.                  2.The faint goodness you feel in memories left when people in those memories are distant.   Before I began, let’s bring it on: I use a lot of metaphors and I use a lot of ‘;’ in my writings. Well, just accept the fact that no one likes a good thing to end; writing to me is an integral part of my mind and heart and to end the sentences I have so very well tried to write down with a full stop (.) scares me. ‘;’ gives me, you, all of us an end and a start just like anything, just like life. It does not end or start; it just pauses and resumes . For metaphors, it’s just my inability to tell the truth the way people want to see it. I am a good human being and I don’t lie or say truth. I am caught between good and bad...

Lacuna

Lacuna noun a gap or missing part, especially in a book or any other piece of writing Broken glass body, Of pens that once wrote the melancholies and melody Tattered, shattered clothes across my lobby Which once timidly sat behind my closet Like a stupid prodigy. From twisted figures, Came those sharpest weapons From torn and shattered papers , Came a wrinkle , what happens If you saw the scars in my memory lane If you heard the reckless tides, I gained If you felt my freezing chill on a summer day If you tasted the red blood out of pouring grey rains What happens, If you could smell my burning pain ?   Scratches on my body, Of anger that found its way back on my skin. Circles of darkness round my eyes, You don’t know what secrets they hide, because you love the way they blink . From broken promises, Came my strongest trust issues. From black roses and red blemishes , Came those wet tissues. And a bruise, what happens If you saw the truth, I never told you If you heard the rumors t...