I think of those times when passion was defined by writing, in my dictionary. When words flew off the alphabet grid and combined themselves in my cluttered mind to form tales, all fake as well as real. When all I had to struggle with was life and depression, and pain. When I had companions to read my tales and to hug me with words. When I used to feel love coming out of a small robotic machine. And when…. I had him to stand beside my side. No matter how hard the time came, no matter what happened…. My faith in him never got lowered.
And here I am, now, struggling with words to arrange them in some decent manner but they are flying randomly in front of my eyes. Catching them up and sewing them here seems difficult. I have lost my passion, I have lost myself. I wasted my whole life running for the things that came and then faded away…. in fact were snatched away from my hands. I never had the idea that this same phenomena is going to happen with those things too, that happened to everything in my life before. Like someone let you smell the elixir of euphoria and take it away before you drink it. The taste, you can feel it but can’t really taste it !!
You know I used to wear masks on my face to hide my pain from the world. While doing that, my true self was left hidden from me. All those years I was a fake being for people and I never knew when I became fake for myself too. And I never knew life would unveil my true self in front of my eyes like this….. I look in the mirror and all I can see now is a psychotic selfish ugly faced bitch ! Some people are born bad… No matter how hard they try to look good from outside, they are meant to be bad at the end. They say nature can never be changed.
Love took me to the heights. When I reached there, I found no path to continue going up. I was stuck there, at a certain point at a certain height and when you can’t find a way forward, you have to go back. Hate is what dashed me to the grounds. Hatred…for my own self. I am no one…. I am just that one person who destroys everyone’s life claiming that he is doing the right thing. That one person who is sent as a punishment for others and has no other aim.
My tears and pain about which I once used to write poems are meaningless to me now. An emptiness flows through my veins and I don’t know what to do. I am lost. I guess that’s how life turns out for ‘my’ kind of people.
And yeah I am sorry you have to read this bullshit. I am just so sorry….