When All.

When the anger that fuels the passion dies down,
When the boiling blood thickens so it can write no more,
I’d lie as the husk of my previous self,
Devoid of all words and ink,
Used up by flame that consumed my mind,
Hollowed up, with nothing behind.

When all hate leaves and nothing stays,
Not even one comes to replace,
I’d be lost with no purpose– what now?
Trapped in the limbo of my own making,
The mediocrity of the mind, and hypocrisy of the heart–
It leaves me hurting;
I’ll live hurting.

When all are but stories to tell someone,
A dismembered you, known by none,
It’ll be the air that makes you look back,
And the dark that’ll hide what you’ll never unpack.
And you’ll wish it’s over, but it isn’t.
Is it, or isn’t not?
I probably have missed it.


Would love to hear your thoughts! :)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s