Friday, October 9, 2009


I am sick, sick of the fatal disease named grief,

It ate up even the broken segments of happiness left in me,

Sneak into all my actions and clutter my whole up,

It is not just a feeling to vomit out the hard snuffle,

But the pickax to excavate your fleshy tissues,

And douse you in the blood of yourself...

Hundreds of loving ones may be besides you,

But you will be completely blind to see them,

Even if u saw, you will be dumb to moan out for help,

The greatest wish for you then will be at least to die,

But the thing is, you wont ever die in grief,

But you may have died a thousand deaths,

Before the grief had completely made you hollow,

Grief comes as a spine in your eyes,

Crushing and churning your heart,

Radiating an eclipse of hurt in your sanity,

You can see even your shadow haunts you like a wild boar,

Your tranquility ebb like a tornado,

Driven you to the dark massive torment of a nightmare…

Where the worms in the dead bodies whirls around you…

To suck out your life, keeping you alive, without killing you…

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