i absorb
the noiselessness
in my head
containing esoteric muses
that held melancholia
like a cusps of flowers
holding voids.
silent and sober
they stir the fragrances
of the grim past
and pour them out
in the hollowness of the soul.
like they are made
to stick on your skin
and each time you touch it
they'll prick you with their venom
of the thousand silhouetted nights
that were no absolutes
but, just a mirage
of the undone memories
and our unreal closeness.

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//She caught her existence amidst the melancholy//
(Captioned)

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i was like buds,
unknown
of the melancholia of falling
after blooming one day.

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Painful lullabies help her drift to sleep---
Clutching a pillow, wet with ancient tears;
Her heart in her throat, yelling for reprieve.

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Grief settles on you
Like a sturdy mantle
Of sorts.
It quashes you, whole--
Yet, you don't find
Any visible holes.
One moment,
It squeezes your gut;
The next instance,
It engulfs your heart;
Yet, you're obliged to smile--
Asserting
That everything's
Spiffing and divine.
Because, there's nothing
Palpably awry;
Though, within you,
Each diminutive thing
Feels so dark--
Despair, inundating
Who you are.

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Paid Content

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Inappropriate Blame

If the root is rotten already,
You can't blame the branches of a tree ;
For nohow holding beautiful Flowers
Or delivering such delicious fruits.

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IMMORTALITY

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her
melancholic
beauty

// in caption

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