What if?

They say achievements start outside of one’s comfort zone, but what if one doesn’t have any? What if one lives on prickles and without a roof on their head? What if one lives with a cloud, so dark, looming over them all the time that they can neither see a pinch of sunlight in the morning, nor wish upon the stars at night.

What if one lives with a broken heart, so shattered and dead. Not because of a person, or a thing, or something materialistic, but because of their own terrible misfortunes.

What if one just exists
And is only craving for one comfort zone?

Poetry Is Not Just Art

Poetry is a feeling and not just art
‘cuz one can feel it when shivers run down their spines
While walking and looking around
It’s also the feeling you get when all you hear
Is your quiet sniffles
Or sometimes, while humming a music
In a bathroom.


Its a feeling that sometimes comes out as written poetries
But in reality, never actually leaves.

The Still Tear

The still tear in the corner of my eyes
Still sting me time to time
When i find it hard to comfort me
And my anxiety is always crossing the line

Don’t tell me you are lonely
Now that i don’t see you anymore
It’s just karma hitting you back
‘cuz i was left alone by you, way before

Still the feeling in my chest never deflates
Every little thing scares me to death
I’m flinching, breathing so hard
Since now that I’m facing all your wrath

It’s one of those feelings
Where no place looks like home
And it’s so heart wrenching to realise
That all i ever lived for

Drowned just like that, not even looking back at me.