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The anguish of living

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Oh, the Anguish of living, Runs so deep through my veins, They mark and trace those crossing lines, And stain my hand with untold pain.   The anguish of living is like a book, Whose covers bound all ache, It has so many chapters deep, Shadows and words, mirror my thoughts, And I read, so addicted, Until the familiarity, lulls me to sleep.   Chapter one, Of the Anguish of living, Makes us wonder why we’re here, The curiosity of depression, Is so unique, Alas not many can understand, And I hope they won’t too, For the words of this chapter, Are like a forbidden poem, So lovely, and dark, We’ll all want to hear.   Chapter two, Makes us realize, That this world is not as sweet as we thought, We at first want to ignore, And tell our hearts that its not real. But how can we overlook, These small, small instances. The bitter unfairness, Soon sprouts in our souls, And then we see, The glamoured world we created, Has peeled
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The Heart’s Tinted Facets

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  The Heart’s Tinted Facets ‘Good and Evil were names for actions by a person, judged by the others’   The dark, red apple, glinted off the morning rays coming through the scarcely open curtains. Its scarlet surface hid the cold white pulp underneath, and drips of juice ran in streams as its owner dug small crescents into its skin, while swinging in a chair. Scarlett Whitlock smiled. Her usual frosty, malicious one, made menacing by the red lipstick applied on them, relating too perfectly to her name Looking back, Scarlett could see her mistakes. She was just like this apple, vulnerable. Easily dug into. But now she was tough. Her parent’s separation built her, instead of breaking her. She set down the apple on the table, now decorated with scars of crescents. And then before it could breathe a sigh of relief, Miss Scarlett Whitlock whipped out a dagger and plunged it in the skin. Shouldering her bag, she headed out for her first day at the Agency.                      
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Blue Heart

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  Blue Heart:   My Blue Heart, Cries and weeps, As it pours, downs sorrows of streams, It inks down a too permanent blue, The dark, glistening one, As it gushes down.   Its drops are like tears, Sometimes lightening, But only in color, darkening in weight. Glints off the light, coming from the world.   My eyes, shine, but from the darkly light, And shed that single light blue tear, It sits so majestically, Holding all the regret and grief, It contains all those pushed down secrets, Shimmering, as if to warn, It will break any second, Into too many flints of stone, Made hard by those muffled feelings.   My head tells me to think, My heart tells me to feel, My hands wait for a command, As my heart takes time to heal. Nothing works, Because everything wants its own way. Finally, I dejectedly, Tell my heart one more time, To shut up its thoughts, And pent down those, Waiting feelings, wanting to come out.     Then, M
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Pits Of Love and Hate

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  The Pits of Love and Hate, Are empty and lone, The Pits of Love and Hate Are a wild harmony.   You add a pebble to one, You add a stone to the other, The Pits of Love and Hate, Have an unbroken balance.   When there are happy times, They get lighter, When there are bad times, The weight increases.   But there really isn’t much of a change, For the Pits stay the same, It is we who change. We who get lost in the bliss, Or drowned in the sorrow.   For these Pits of Love and Hate, Are like nets, They capture you, tie you, Invite you to stay. These treacherous Pits of Love and Hate, Control our lives, and dictate.
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When the Moon does not Shine

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  When the Moon does not shine   When the moon does not shine, We miss the stars, When the Moon does not shine, We see the darkness. When the moon does not shine, We hate the night. When the moon does not shine.   It shines every day, But it goes unnoticed. It glows brightly every night, But we shut the curtains without seeing it. It’s always there, Like a comforting hand of a mother, Always there to guide us.   But when the mother lifts her hands, Cold washes us, And we want the warmth back. When the moon is not there, Then we notice that we’re in the dark.   But till then it’s too late, For the moon has already stopped shining.                                                                                 -Shriya Nauhria
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Shards of Perfection

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  Shards of Perfection   The shards of perfection, have bound us all, They hold us captives, they chain us all, Oh, everyone has been a prisoner to it, and so have I, They have cut me too, deep and sharp, Until I bled, too much to stop.   The girl was tired of being fake, Tired of staring into the mirror every day, Tired of hoping against hope she would change some way. Dresses and make up, False smiles and laughs, Everyone loved her when she was happy, No one wanted her when she was sad. All these years, she hid behind her perfect façade,                                      All these years, she was blinded by these bitter shards, She was blinded by the promises they gave, They made her pretty, but to the core she bled and cried, Oh, the poor girl, she did not realize, That she was getting killed inside.   And that’s all they do. See my friends, perfection comes not from beauty or grace. It does not even come from within. There is nothin
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Truths and Lies - A mirror

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Truth is something everyone requires,  You can live without love,  Or with Hate,  But every human, yearns, for the truth,  It’s something we all will eventually desire.  For who wishes to live in the dark?  Who wishes to be kept from reality?  The truth can be blinding,  But we’ll still want to know it,  That’s the unfortunate fate of mortality.  The truth,  Is like the swirling patterns of a collage,  Where it ends, where it begins,  From where did it start?  Truth can be labeled a mystery,  One that cannot be solved.  The world could be said truthful,  Or full of lies,  I would like to think it's truthful,  But how can I, when the truth is the latter?  People say truth is purity,  But how can something be pure? When it’s stained with the splotches of partiality?  How can something be wrong and right?  When we know nothing is black and white,  How can we choose a side?  The truth can be so confusing,  It’s often best if we don’t know it,  For once we do,  It’ll be a burden we’ll c
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