Turmoil

By Shreya Sharma

Here I am again Wasting my time away in vain. I close my eyes forcefully To see the things around me clearly. Tears make my vision blurry but No I can see it clearly. I tried not to become the person you warned me of Yet here I am again Thinking alone all in vain. Are my sufferings even real Or just a part of my outer appeal? Do I crave for attention or wish to be left alone? Questioning myself once again for whom? For the one who couldn't bother to finish the begun. This is me, the real me. The unknown me. I don't know me.

You don’t own me. Go on, pretend you can't see. And I will consider you no more than a deceased.

Saddest in the happiest. Know how it feels? Life passes by like a Sunday Afternoon painting on reel. Poor I am. I have no sentiment. Filthy I am. I have no truth. Black I am. I have no white. Liar I am. I have no lies.

Just another test subject,

The trials had failed.

Vital Signs nil.

Silence couldn't be broken by speaking up.

It is innate. Persistent.

What more should I say?

I had committed many sins.

I had committed many sins.

By Shreya Sharma