Paper Doll

I remain that thing

You tie up in little strings

I smile so wide

When you draw my arms into wings

The day I was born

I was colored all bright

As I grew up I lay

Neglected for many nights

Fold me anyway you want

Crumble me in your arms

Then press me into your lap

You do me no harm

And when you’ll grow old

And your hands will be frail

You’ll remember your paper doll

You furiously impaled

Will you remember tearing apart?

Carving my limbs for show?

You’ll know I was never alive

I was always my own ghost.

sad-doll-sitting

Because…

Because it always ends
Before it even begins
Because I lose my thought
Each time time twists and spins

Because truths often
Hurt more than the lies
Because running away
Helps the soul’s infinite sky

Because the best world
Is always a fantasy
Because one step out of the bell jar
Brings you back to reality

Because every life unloved
Is a life that is dead
Because in every love what’s told
Is never enough said

Because every soul has an audience
And every audience a voice
Because even music sometimes
Is just a lot of noise

Because that which doesn’t kill
Gives you pleasure too
Because everyday I breath this dead air
I love you too….

image

In Victus

Out of the days that unearth me,
Bright and white from pole to pole,
I curse whatever gods may be
For my gullible soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have winced, I have cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody and bowed.
Beyond this place of skies so clear
Looms but the Horror of the jade,
And yet the so-called joy of the years
Finds and shall forever find me afraid.
It matters not how the gate is built,
How empty is my punishment scroll,
I am a slave to my guilt:
I am lost to my soul.

P.S: The true rendition of the William Ernest Henley Poem “Invictus”

Mrs. Dalloway : An ode to Virginia Woolf

She lives in empty rooms
she feels, she cries
she walks over shrouded tombs
she sighs as she walks away

Johnny left in spring
Little Mary didn’t see the winter
The house is in shambles
her hopes in splinters

Each stone seems special
adding weight to a soul
we’ll meet in purgatory, she thinks
the lake is just beckoning her more

The cold water pierces through
her heartless beats don’t last
It stabs like a thousand knives
It is on this cold October Sky
that Mrs. Dalloway breathes her last…