FOOLS

Drifting like a feather in and out of lives
but when do they ever stop
to wipe the bloodstains off it?
Trying to find the perfect corner,
perfect faults and crevices to fit in-
to be invisible,
but hold the walls together.
Screams never leave the throat,
words die before they fly away.
For once, would you ever stop to ask,
if told, would you ever understand?
This world I built for me
is slowly filling up
with the stories untold, tears choked
and I am the only one caught in the flood.
Drown or teach myself to swim.
It gets scary-
the pronoun I;
I am afraid to empty my thoughts,
what if I lose them,
what if the world did not hold them?
So put them with me,
we will be one
as heavy as the burden is,
I am sure they will be safe.
What if I leave my heart out
and it is scratched, bruised, and wounded
so I keep it in chains behind bars
so they will be safe for now.

OLD CONVERSATIONS

Old conversations-
Those crevices and sharp edges 

meaningless words and small talk,

incomplete questions -

roaring oceans of emotions narrowed down to a few drops.

Wanting to let it all out-

let the ink flow and flow

till we have a beautiful portrait.

What holds back our words?

Flowers withered away before blooming.

Old conversations-

why do they hold different meanings

for each soul that reads them;

we see our faults 

in the shadow of others.

Where did we lose?

Too scared- of all the world

and of ourselves; too lost.

Old letters- the ones

we started writing 

but tore up and burnt away

scared of losing an imaginary future.

Each line,

each song and piece of poem

hidden under a pretentious veil of soulless words

as we stutter- what to say next,

acting out an unrehearsed scene

voices falter every now and then.

Old conversations- put them away,

leave them at their grave

because now we dance at their death,

silences stretched apart,

we celebrate their doom

because we will never know where they started

or how they ended,

so now, we smile at their sleep.