The anguish of living
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 away,
And left the harsh one in
sight.
Chapter three,
We see, what do we want to
live for?
Priorities, and goals, and
secrets,
Some make us smile, some make
us cry.
And often that once made us
happy,
Is the reason we have that
bittersweet hint,
On our face.
Chapter four,
Oh, how tough it’s so,
Is when we seek revenge,
We want this and we want that,
And we’re so confused.
We’re angry, betrayed, tired,
worn,
Is all this really worth it?
I just want this book to end
so bad,
For every page turned brings
new nightmares,
And I relish in that obsessed
pain,
As my flesh burns and my soul
howls,
I stumble to my quiet shelter,
And take out a knife,
And cut a scar on my hand,
Like so many others,
Adorning my pale flesh,
And announcing their glory of
pain.
Blood drops, and drip,
And I grin, the maniac one of
wanting more,
Now these cuts are all I live
for.
- Shriya Nauhria
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