Stop Pretending That You've Stopped Pretending

Every sigh is now inevitably a suppressed breakdown,

so you hold out summer lilies to a snowstorm,

and play pretend it's spring outside.

Seasons are changing faster than bad news travelling around the town, 

fully aware that your heart is forever stuck in fall.

For a heart that's but just a ball of sandpaper wrapped in raincloud, 

What pain is another heartbreak anyway?

Hands are but blood caked petals of your dead sunflower,

Hope is but a stupid assumption, a madman running naked on the streets.

What use is another prayer now anyway?

Yellow is but blue, only ten shades sadder,

Yellow is but blue, just overcoated with pretence

For someone who has forcefully blindfolded herself with blood, 

in an attempt to survive, what good are these colours anyway?

For someone who murdered words before they made their way to eventual graves,

What hope of a life, is this poem anyway?

By Komal Aandhiwal