Dead ends

Where I came from? a question I have asked to my soul so many times and every action in my life points straight beneath, deep down where hell exist.

But when did I started asking myself this cynical question and why now, why not then.

There are certainly so many aspects in my life that I hate but why do I still want to live with it, as if they are the most important oxygen molecule in my life. It hurts, a lot, but it brings relief in the same way. I feel I am shattered, lost and certainly broken but at the same time I am satisfied, alright.

Living my life on something that isn't fair, but was it fair when he broke me, when my heart danced to the last waltz. Oh! heart , that pathetic silly shattered heart he left me with, even the tightest grip can't hold a piece together, but I am not giving up any time soon. This broken heart needs to beat, but then another question arises..

 Why does my heart feel so broken? Is it a long lavishing scar that haunts, or is it just an everyday jab that get me frenzied. Whatever it is, it's my pain, Pain.....small word indeed.

Feeling this pain, my heart cries again, thinking of him makes me weak,

My trodden tapestry like heart is shedding tons of turmoil tears.

when did my core converted itself to love someone so dearly to mourn, was it the time he smiled at me? I fear to accept a yes as my answer but deploring it will determine my deteriorated state. But what exactly attracted me...what was so soothing in his smile

Oh! There was so many capturing corners..

The majestic beams of the moon were captured on his lips, warmth of the sun settling on his smile, how dearly he looked with that small subtle smile of his. It was the evidence of true emotions in this bubble world, a world so cynical and judgmental but it wasn't for him, even if he was a part of them.

His words always illustrating the impeccable side of the being, his thoughts an example of polar point of view from mine. 

Was he that different? I never believed so, until I tied my heart with his world, he was just one of the kindest amidst cruelest initially and the evilest anybody could ever see, but he was my angel, if that made him different then he was.

An epitome of happiness, carefree and full of life, a sculpture made by the erratic carver, an acquisitive noble king loved by his admirers, he was the only sunflower of my gloomy days, describing him in different ways but the description is same. These would sum up all the things he was for me.

But what he left in me can't be worded out, he was all I had in my shameless world and I am on that drunk dunk again, what did he changed in me? did he changed the way I live or manifested his essential essence in my environ. I am still the same or maybe worse, he definitely changed me to deal with an aching heart though...He was great in giving lovely pain.. and here I am with it again..

Is my reminiscing of his resting scents is the cause of the pain, or is it the loss that I paid following him?

certainly the biggest mystery of mine. What does he really meant to me, evidently everything.

I wonder how many heart bled the day he faded away, It's not just mine if hands were raised, the tore up pages of his diary says this. A long list of lonely ladies lingering in that index like a leach.

Now I am in one of those grey lines on his putrefy bin in that exiled house, my story just culminated when that page tear apart, as if it was one of the unrealistic ritual of love he preached.

Those which were the backbone of the bond but with time it became hollow and then faded in thin air. Those were meant to be left behind, just like me. I am one of the new entry in the new list of lost love. I despise that diary and I have deliberately buried it down for forever....his diary of love. But was it really love?

Was there any hint of affection in his incurrence in my life, or was it my hallucination?

I will be showering in blessed rain if I lived in my delusion, skimming through the streets and enjoying the deep puddles,

but reality often turns love into ashes and mine into drain, sparks into flames and life as hell where I lived with crying curtains....

Fuck! I am not poetic

My life isn't a sweet poem nor it was when he was there, it was always like a boring journal, his life was a dearie diary though. His actions were like a greeting game, and as it sounds he framed a new board for me, board of thousands of my wishes and his keys. Knowing that it was just my part to play that game of his, it was the game of one.

It was his game that I played and now that this has ended, I am sitting with this heavy flooded heart of mine, walking on the brink to lose my life. Sad it may seem, tired as it be. 

Is this life even meant to be lived, shouldn't this just end, why is my betrayed breaths still bestowing me this form of me, why am I not an arcane soul yet because my life seems dead. Is it the verdict for vendetta against my soul which is balancing my toes on this fluttering floor, it's not easy to live neither it is to die, I am fighting with my own self to decide. Chose my fate, take me home even if it is meant to leave where senses belong.

My hands tied and wrapped around my knees, head veiled down in front of this deep sea, hundreds of questions, still afraid to be spoken, even in my thoughts. Why is it here now, what's the point of my strangled emotions peeking out like those little fireflies at night, my world being the dense rainforest and those little lights lingering in the dark, those are like the little flames I have delivered like questions so far. Ironically those are beautiful and mine are not.

Will I be able to move forward , without injecting those addiction insights I intake or if I just don't continue my rituals. I am stuck in this loop, a bloody loop of remorse, satisfaction and desires. When will this end and how?

Will this sea swallow all my sorrow? If I let it take control over me will I be able to get the grin I am keen to feel. The varied lengths of these waves, so enchanting and mesmerizing, offering an entice of peace to me.

But as pleasant it may sound, I am afraid of it, afraid of the fate.

I can't repeat what I said because these thoughts haunts my own guts, even if I die my problems won't. I will be a ghost with thousands of curse, will my death can give peace to that breaking heart that I am ought to handle and what guarantee does my loss of consciousness offers, will it be able to wire up those tired wrinkles of his face. Will he be happy if I am not there?, he doesn't want me to stray even at the slightest distance away but what is there apart from him.

Who can even commemorate the loss of an unworthy loser.

Leaving this place and leaving the opportunity to get what I am looking for, the necessary nest of my consciousness has won over me again, taken over on my self considerate choices.

But what if my sanity was under my fingers that day or any other day, I wouldn't have felt this pain right, living a happy and ordinary life.

Moreover he wouldn't have left me or anyone. He would still be here explaining his mistakes, making convincible eloquent excuses or maybe we would have settled down here, on this ruffling sand and seeing the setting sun just the way I dreamt. 

But I burnt my own love.

Am I criminal?

If taking my revenge and flushing my frustration is termed as a crime then I am indeed a criminal. I surely don't like what I did initially and penance myself for what I am facing, due to my own reasons and actions. I did a mistake but I don't feel like correcting it. Instead of erasing the past, I am accepting it as it was and writing new letters on it.

People always have to pay the price of what they partake and this seclusion is the repercussion of getting my hands bloody but I somehow enjoy it, enjoy all my pain.

How was my first experience if you ask, I might answer weirdly, no word can express that explosion of emotions I felt that day.

It was a starry night. just like that painting of Vincent Van Gogh, everything twirled for the eyes of the spectator at a glance but so magnificent, just like that painting my night was twisted too, partially because of those pills and mainly because of another revelation, another secret of his missing night.

My life was never been so fucked before he entered egoistically, when his smile flashed in front of my mundane mornings, too beautiful and deceitful but he did...and by my track of record, the only way out of my world was death...

I never intended to penetrate those pins in his brawny body, but knowing that truly I was just another bed for that majestic man made my mind make that decision, handle that situation and stabbing his audacity.

I just remember my hands turning red by the end , nothing else that I remember palpably, not even his lifeless body, blood filled room or the way I dragged him out the door, it was the evidence , that what I did was what my mind desired that night, my damned relapsed nut.

I lost him and I am the reason he is lost from this world, I, myself broke the news we lost him, stating it was an accident with my crashed car, the lies I told that morning, was it really me?

My grandpa once said I was the most honest human he ever met, maybe because he was my grandfather, but I murdered loves, and contradicted the credence of my only care, but at that moment I knew it gave me pleasure, it gave me relief and a sense to live my life with more tranquility

.

Why didn't I reported myself to the police, why didn't I confessed the truth in the court?

Apart from my continuation of crimes there is another excuse I can make.

I have a reason, the biggest and the utmost excuse for my sins, My heart denied to see my grandfather disgusting over the news of my detention on his deathbed and I am still drizzling drops from my orbs with this guilty mind and hands just for the sake of him but sometimes I think my grandpa wasn't the cause for my taken step... ..maybe I am just selfish and scared...Drowning in his remorse didn't gave me the chance to draw my dainty conclusions of that and nor did those drugs dragged me to be sober to consider my filth.

But what's even the point to remember that....

What's gone is gone, what you have is what matters....

What do I have then? the only dying guardian of mine, I hope he survives at least.

But what else is there ?, this stupid sobbing heart, a tired mind, a suicide note, a pack of pills and of course my toy...the only thing I gifted myself, saved my money for and never ever used it in my lifetime. I promised I would never play with toys but I --- well these are enticing, enchanting and eases my soul just like that knife, that sharp stance of my ultimate stress reliever. I don't know if it's the humans I experiment on make me satisfied or just using it on those global aphasia creatures, both are same isn't it?

Both shed blood on my blade.

But What exactly keeps me going are those shots of addiction, illicit but literal heaven for me, it's symptoms won't stop me, even the venom can't threaten me now...

... The venom can't kill the snake.

I won't die, I promised my grandpa that morning he saw those. I won't die before him, he stated with surety ignoring what he found in my frizzy bag, he believes me more than I do myself....another burden.

 And I chose to carry it, decided to stay here a day or two longer to see him, to forget the lost thing , to forgive myself maybe. To live and never love again.

Walking down this lane, knowing no one will spare me a glance, it's crowded, this world is too busy in itself to notice a sinner on the street and I am a part of this crowd, the murderer on this street.

Not at all different even when my eyes are visualizing gyrating scenes ahead, tipsy over my own steps, I am just one of them...one of you. On this sidewalk, there are millions but nobody knows what I did. Whom I am missing and the reason I am still carrying this cynical smile.....and just like me...everyone is smiling, pathetically punitive sham of us.

Aren't we all the same? Miserable. Behind all these smiles you show to this world how many are them are genuine.

'None'

How many problems you hide...how many immoral secrets you enjoy by yourself, hiding your flaws and presenting a pretty portrait of yourself....

I pity you, them too....the one who couldn't stop faking a smile, this stupid shitty social smile. Everyone thinks it's bravery, they are strong enough to deal with this world, I thought that too...but it's not. Pretense doesn't portray anything, what it arouse is agitation in heart.

"Bitch see where you going", ah see...another compliment for me, a small talk just because my shoulder brushed on hers, she knows I am disgusting, at least somebody knows.

Will my smile be able to apologize to her...never mind, she's out of sight. I felt sudden buzz, and I ignored it. Choosing to escape this ecstasy first.

The second time I felt my pant's pocket shifting on itself, I halted, frowning, trying to pick that out of my pot sized pocket, and cursing when I grabbed the wrong item. A look in the vicinity and found no one here, indeed safe scene to flash a gun, but where the hell did the world brought me now, empty tunnels, I told you I barely remember where I strut when I kiss those pills of mine.

 By the time I slide the green, it already hung up, giving me the chance to check the caller.

Oh! my grandpa....the only person who got a heart beside his name, wish I could give mine to him, in exchange of his feeble heart I wanted to sacrifice mine, only if he permitted......and now he is waiting for someone to bestow him, expecting a smiling heart from this careless crowd, he found none yet.

Before I could contact him, he was a step ahead of mine. This time, I had this smile, the most genuine I had over the years...

"Miss....We're calling from the hospital", I listened checking the number again, it was my grandpa's phone for sure.

"You gave us your wrong number..." "Stella, get to the point", ohh something is really bad, they didn't sounded nice, and I am tired, so tampering and framing any conclusions is seriously sick so I just stayed still. I am still annoyed they contacted me when I was expecting something nice.

They were still bickering on the phone and then it all turned stagnated, I assumed since I was on hold, my knees feeling giddy and eye barely supporting to retract those tears, heart saying this is just another call for a hope and a good bye news. where will I get those money from, millions or thousands for the transplant, which organ of mine is ready to let go my body, I know I have taken this into consideration but every thought of this made me cry, for a very known reason. 

"Hello..I am your grandfather's doctor", this fucker...this bloody lamb live just for money, no compassion for his patient or anyone, he is one of he reason I don' believe this fucked up world. It would be enough for him to hear my hums in response.

"We're really sorry to say.....but we couldn't save him....."

..bullshit

I was with him last night......he was smiling I swear..

"This morning we found him unconscious and couldn't save him, Unfortunately"

No!....this is probably a joke... A dark and mean one.....he didn't jus killed m life

"Hello miss"

don't say it, shut up

"W-We're really sorry for your loss"

"We tried our best"

.......fuck, you didn't

"hello, miss the bills are still due and....uh we need you here.."

breath in...

"Are you there?"

breath out

"hello miss"

In, Out

"Hello can you hear me"

In , Out......

everything is drained ~~~~

"bastard" 

"Huh! miss ! I know it's really hard..... but mind you~~"

"I'll be your dead end"