A Shackled Sunrise

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I feel weak today. Strangled. The other days pass; this one is stuck, like a rotting corpse under a bombed shack.

I have thought about it, a lot. That is all I seem to be doing nowadays. It feels like I have been pulled into a time warp. No sense of passage, no sense of space. I must have been staring at this wall for three, four hours maybe now, and it has changed, growing on me, around the edges of my blurry vision. It shall consume me.

This wall is a strange thing, almost like a person, pale and flaking, scars of lost souls etched onto its wrinkled face. I wish I could splash my tumult on this withered being, scratching away at it till my skin gave away and my fingers bled crimson, feeding on its cries, cleansing myself. I really wish I could.

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But I have no stories to tell. Not out loud, at least. It is all in my head, churning and turning, a shifting mass of grey, a tangled mess I made for myself. Contrary to what anyone might say, this is comforting, this sense of finality. It is a warm haven in the constant noise of expectations and dreams.

At this moment, I am not weighed down by anything, no burdens, nothing to fulfill except that one pure goal. It is calm, but it hurts. The kind of pain that cannot be cured by makeshift remedies and solemn promises.

If only I could tell someone. If only I could unravel my mind and pour forth into another being, willing to soak all the darkness in, pulling the curtains away if there is any light left in this unforgiving world. I could have saved myself, perhaps.

No.

What has talking ever done except add a few more inconsequential syllables to latent conversations, feeding fake fires of concern? Everyone has their time and everyone has to deal with it.

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I can’t, not anymore.

I am tired.

Tired of putting up that façade every time I walk out.

Tired of laughing as if the sunshine graced me.

Tired of getting out of bed every single day.

Tired of pretending.

I am tired.

I wonder, would the world be a simpler place if we had no desires?

But what a world would that be, then.

Happier? Perhaps.

Worth living? Probably not.

Is it worth living right now, though?

I know my answer.

I hope this settles the dust.

I hope my mess becomes one with this dust.

(I do not mean to advocate or glorify suicide or self-harm through this piece, in any manner. If you feel sad or isolated, reach out to someone you trust, someone you can talk to. There are online forums which maintain anonymity too.

One can check out https://www.7cups.com/.

Seek professional help, there is no shame in it.)

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Infinite

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I love my silence.

Those rare moments in which your mind floats around, questioning the triviality of existence and the extent of the universe.

Those precious moments in which clarity hits you, drizzling like the first rain, eventually flooding your insides with cold.

Those beautiful moments in which you notice the little things, the colors, the emotions and the hope, your eyes shine with a golden spark, and you embrace the world around you.

I love my silence because it lets me wander, free and fresh, closer to the sun, sea and beyond.

Silence lets me unravel the tangled ropes, wrap my head around the mystery that is life.

They watch me, lost in my own reality, and they mock me, my bizarre nature.

But I pity them.

They just see things, I feel them.

They freeze frames on a chip, I keep them in my heart.

They touch the sea, the sand, I carry it within me.

My smile hides a hundred different lives and my head contains multitudes. I evolve with time – learning, understanding, and living.

They miss so much that nature offers, fixated on the surface, never diving deeper into the azure ocean, never drifting lazily, never exploring the riddles.

Sometimes, it is good to let go, to let yourself be overwhelmed.

Listen to the sounds of the violin, the strings rubbing away, melody after melody,

Read a withered book, cure that malady,

Wander sans glamour, all stark and rustic,

Feed your silence, forget the world for that moment mystic.