You left me with a ghost,
To keep me warm, in the darkest nights.
And the blistering days.

To haunt my mind,
With memories of once upon a time,
To sink into my depths,
And pull out emotions,
That I bury with concrete,
Each and everyday.
To be there with me,
Whether I limp or float.
To be my measuring scale;
The voice in my head.

Every passing minute,
I concoct a new plot to kill it.

Thicker the prison I make for it,
The grandest break out it makes.
I cut it down,
And it grows three more heads.
I strangle it,
And it slips right through my hands.
I cannot burn it down,
Without burning me along.
I cannot bury it in,
Without burying me along.

You left me with your ghost,
And somehow, you still survive,
Behind your callous mask.



Some days,
She sits in a dark corner,
Lightens a lampshade,
Just above her head,
And unwraps the bandages,
With lingering care.
With her fingertips,
She brushes the wounds,
Now dried and covered with dead skin.
She tears off the dried layers,
Of blood and skin,
With her fingernails,
And with a sharp-edged dagger,
She pokes on the wound,
Until blood oozes,
From her hidden vessels,
Drop by drop at first,
That turns into streams,
Which flows down her body,
Staining her skin.
Then she pulls out a carving knife,
And cleaves off the layer,
Of dead skin and dried out blood,
Along with red flesh,
On the utmost top.

For days,
She lies,
In her dark corner,
Watching the blood gushing out,
Feeling her tears running down,
Until they dry out into stains.
She wraps the bandages back,
Stands on her feet,
And walks out in to the world,
With her hidden wounds.
Her wounds from the falls and bolts,
Were long dead and gone.
But the ghosts they left behind,
Guides her dagger and knife.
And she limps ahead,
With self-inflicted wounds.

Death of Hope

For as long as that tiny flicker
Of hope shines within,
She would flap her wings,
In the dark,
As if it’s mid-day with an azure blue sky,
Tracing shapes out of the black
Seeing new worlds past the veils of wrecks.
And she would keep flying
Seeming like one with purpose,
Although she sees nothing past
Her little glow of hope.

But when that glow takes up wings,
Flutters out from within her,
And sets fire to itself,
Right before her eyes,
And its ashes embrace her,
Sinking through her skin,
Into her flesh,
Her flight gives in
To the creatures of the dark,
Who pull at her wings,
Drawing her to the cold, hard ground.
Her sight fails
To show her the worlds she built,
Out of the nothingness.

She screeches,
Punching the black veil,
That has formed into a thick wall,
Around her,
Slowly enclosing her.
She wails
For the glimmer of hope to return,
She screams
Attempting to spit out,
The ashes within her
Coughing out blood,
Hoping its taste would leave her.
But she’d rather wail
Scream and struggle,
Knowing it’s all upto no avail,
Than lying still
And feeling the ashes
Mossing around her blood vessels;
Feeling herself dying,
Slowly, within.